SPIN
by Brooky Jones
Summary: While things remain generally the same in Manhattan, sixteen year old Faye runs from her past, which happens to sit in Brooklyn.  Exhaustion and fate bring her together with the newsies; and her life, and many of theirs, begin to change drastically.
1. Chapter 1

_Faye...Faye, quick...he's here, I know it...help me...Faye...Faye...help me!... please, please...oh, God, please...help me, please... Oh God..._

Faye's eyes opened abruptly, and she sat bolt upright, struggling to breathe. Her dark room came in blurry. She blinked, and jumped when tears from her unconscious touched her cheeks. She swung her head around wildly. Every blackened corner had a density that was so very thick; they had become caves for her nightmares. That voice had been so close, so real, and so afraid... but she was alone. Not one floorboard was creaking, and there was no sound but her own breathing. With a shaky hand, she touched her cheek and smeared her tears over her sweat-soaked skin.

She lay back down and coughed, choking slightly on the phlegm seeping from her lungs. She turned on her side, thinking the same horrible thoughts that kept her up night after night... she could feel her insides crumbling like an ancient tombstone. She was disentegrating into this house, this floor, this reminder of the family she lost. Wiping a straggling tear away, she closed her eyes. One thought was firm in her mind as she tumbled back into a restless sleep..._ I can't do this no more... I can't do this._

**PART I: INSIDE**

The morning rose above the inner borough of Brooklyn, lighting up the alleyways and the shadows beneath the park trees. Birds began to chirp and cart wheels began to rumble down the cobblestone, vibrating the whole city into a new day.

Faye was already awake. She clomped into the small living area, a white sheet trailing behind her. Stretching the sheet out in her hands, she shook it, then laid it flat on the floor. She did not waste time. Objects from around her wooden shack crashed pell-mell onto the sheet: A few framed photographs, two diaries, a wooden smoking pipe, a change of clothes, and a pile of old lace that was filthy with dust. Without checking for any straggling memories, Faye pulled the four corners of the sheet together, tied it off, and marched outside. She did not close the door behind her.

The morning sun was orange, and bright. A heavy breeze told Faye that rain was close, but she did not concern herself with it. She would rather swim one hundred miles to a new destination than spend one more night in that old shack.

She was walking down the center of a narrow, straight dirt road surrounded by small wooden houses much like her own. However, there were no children to ask her where she was going; no women sweeping off the walks to their front doors or heading to work; no men kissing their families goodbye. Though Faye heard the ghosts of their voices and laughter, they had abandoned this place long ago.

She walked along the dirt path until she reached cobblestone, and she embraced the invisibility she possessed in the slowly brimming crowd. Vendors were setting up their stations, and more and more carriages clopped by. Heads covered in hats, bonnets, and ribbons weaved through the streets and the horses, heading for the open market and shops.

A mere few blocks later, Faye stopped and rested her legs on the stoop of an apartment building. She pulled her pre-rolled cigarettes from her shirt, struck a match on the cement stairs, and waited, smoking slowly.

"C'mon, Mae. We're gonna be late if you don't hurry up! Come _on!_"

"I'm right behind you!"

Faye smiled, and flicked her cigarette away as four feet came down the stairs towards her. A young girl with dirty blond hair stepped down onto the street, but the other pair of feet stopped just behind her. Faye turned her head to look.

"Hey, James."

This dirty blond head belonged to a boy with spectacles. He had not removed his look of delighted surprise when Faye had turned to greet him, and he pulled her up and embraced her.

"Watcha doin' here so early?" He grinned.

Faye did not reply; she glanced down at her bag, then back up at James. He sighed, and sat down, lighting a cigarette of his own. After a long pause, he looked up at her.

"Where ya going?"

Faye kicked at the steps, her hands on her hips. "Haven't decided."

"Then stay here until ya do! Pop won't mind, you know it."

"Can't," Faye replied, still kicking at the concrete. "I'm sorry."

He looked down at his own feet. "When will I see you again?"

"Dunno." It was too early in the day to cry, and Faye knew if she said too much that she would.

"Right..." James stood, and put his hands in his pockets. "Be careful, Faye."

She nodded. "Yeah, you too. Tell Mae an' your pa I said... ya know." She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"I will."

For one moment, Faye looked right at him. It was a mistake. Her eyes began to pool.

"Bye, James." She touched his arm briefly. Then she walked forward into the crowd feeling as though a fog hung over her head, and her head only.

"Love you, Faye."

Faye turned around despite herself to reply, but James was not there. She coughed, turned on her heel, and marched on.

Racetrack walked merrily down the street, his hopes high. His papers had beautifully sold in two hours, which was surely a sign that the coins in his pocket belonged at the tracks. Headed for Brooklyn, he grabbed to the back of a trolley as it began to move, pushing his hat further down as a cool wind swept through the streets.

Spring was just beginning to peak out of the flowers and the trees, teasing the citizens of New York with warm drafts that disappeared as quickly as a branch swayed. But the sky was clear and blue, and the sun was burning steadily, like a fire in the hearth on a cold night. Recognizing someone in the street, Race hopped off the trolley for a slight detour in his journey.

"Blink! Dutchy!" He watched as they turned, and after seeing him, they began to walk towards him.

"How goes it, Race?" Asked the boy with a patch over his eye. "Me an' Dutchy was just headin' to the park."

"You guys finished too?" Asked Race. They nodded, and Race grinned. "Wanna come to the tracks with me? It's a promisin' day boys, I can feel it!" He jingled his pockets in what he obviously supposed was a luring manner, and wiggled his eyebrows. "Whaddaya say?"

Blink smiled rather apologetically. "Actually, we were just gonna go relax in the park before we have to sell again later...but we should go out tonight, or somethin'. I'm sure Medda's got somethin' goin' on, she always does."

Race seemed a bit disappointed for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Oh well. I'll see you guys later." They nodded to each other, and Race headed on his way to Brooklyn, now a little annoyed that he'd jumped off the trolley.

Blink and Dutchy had made their way to Central Park and climbed up into a providing tree. Munching on apples, they quite forgot about having to get back to work in a few short hours.

"Can't wait 'til it gets real warm," said Dutchy longingly, leaning against the trunk.

"Yeah, me neither," Blink nodded. "This weather is awful nice though."

"Bet it rains," Dutchy grumbled.

Blink looked around at him. "Ya know, I think you been hangin' out with Skittery too much. You been grumpy all day."

Dutchy snorted. "That's a stupid thing to say."

Blink shrugged. He watched his legs dangle for a while, and yawned. "Why don't we sit down there?" He motioned towards the grass. "I kin'a fancy a nap."

They swung down, and after taking their hats off and placing them under their heads, they closed their eyes, and fell asleep.

Faye had never walked so quickly down the streets in her life. It seemed to her that the faster she reached the Brooklyn Bridge and crossed over, the easier it would be to leave her one and only borough and home. As she approached her destination, however, she stopped dead, letting her bag hang limply from her hand. She had lived in Brooklyn all her life; she could feel her city buzzing behind her. Would Manhattan be different? Maybe a train to Wyoming, or Oregon, or Washington...

With a jolt she realized quite a few eyes were on her... suspicious, perhaps, or maybe just curious... not caring why they were looking, but not liking it, she ducked behind a brick building. She looked up at it rather dully. Probably another abandoned factory... they were eating up the whole city...

She sat down on her make-shift bag and leaned against the wall. What she really wanted to do was sleep, in every sense of the word. It had been years since she'd gotten a full six or seven hours of sleep at all, and even longer since she'd woken up feeling like it was worth her while to bother. She let her head lean back on the wall as she fumbled for her cigarettes in her shirt pocket. Though she vividly remembered the tragic disasters that had catalyzed and shaped her lonely, hungry life, she could not understand how she had become what she was: starving, numb, and alone.

She sighed, feeling a bit of relief as she exhaled smoke from another cigarette. She was the only survivor of the battle; what she and her family had fought for, she did not know. Deep in her heart, she knew that somewhere, her family was together. In some ways that was comforting, but most of the time, it filled her with rage. Why was she the one left alone to find her way? Why was she the one left to wonder why she was alive at all? Mostly, she felt half dead, anyway. She was just there, walking among a city of other lost, half dead people, all wondering the same thing and feeling just as lonely. Why couldn't she have gone with them?

She shook her head vigorously. A solitary and free seat in a cargo train car would be a much more appropriate place to think these things over.

She closed her eyes, taking another drag off her cigarette. She could feel her body wanting to sleep, wanting to rest... she obediently snuffed out her cigarette and unclenched her muscles. A swift wind pushed past her, and a single rain drop touched her nose.

Blink awoke with a start. Rain was pouring down on Central Park. Dutchy appeared to have only just awoken as well. They scrambled to their feet, grabbed their hats, and ran for it.

"Told ya it would rain, didn't I?" Dutchy yelled over the storm. Blink grinned.

They finally reached home: the Newsies Lodging House of Manhattan. They threw the door open and ran inside, shivering. In the foyer they met two newsies and an old man sitting on the counter in conversation. Another newsie sat on the floor against the wall opposite them, apparently trying to untwist his suspenders.

"Hey, Spot," Blink said to one of the newsies on the counter. "What brings you to Manhattan?" He nodded to the old man before he sat down on the floor next to the other newsie.

"Just visitin',"answered Spot, surveying his wet clothes with ice blue eyes. "I think you can understand why I ain't venturin' home in this weather."

Blink could not argue with this, as he was now wringing out his hat and creating a rather large puddle on the floor. He raised his eyes, looking sheepish.

"Sorry, Kloppman," he said, addressing the old man. "I'll get the mop."

"Don't bother," Kloppman grunted with a wave of his hand. "The rest of ya will be here soon, I imagine. May as well wait 'til all the boots have come through."

The boy next to Blink, whose name was Mush, finally lifted his head. "Where were you, Blink?"

"Me an' Dutchy was sleepin' in the park," Blink shrugged. "Woke up soaked."

Mush snorted. "Good one."

"Don't start, Mush," Blink threatened, though the huge grin he wore made his words rather soft.

The third newsie on the counter slid down. "So, who's up for Medda's tonight?" He asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Actually, I was thinkin' about goin'," said Blink. "Told Race earlier we should."

The boy nodded. "Whaddaya say, Spot?"

Spot shook his head. "Sorry, Jack, I gotta be back with my boys tonight. We been havin' some trouble with Smith lately about curfew and I gotta hold a meetin'." His eyes flicked to the window. The rain was still falling, but only half-heartedly. He slid down off the counter too. "And speakin' a which, the weather's clearin'. I should prob'ly get goin'." He pulled his hat on, and turned to Jack. "I'll get in touch with ya soon, Jacky-boy." He shook Jack's and Kloppman's hands, and, after nodding to the rest of them, took out his cane, and walked out the door.

It was a long walk back to Brooklyn, but Spot did not seem to mind. His face was screwed up in intense thought as he walked; it looked as if his eyes were looking inside his head and arguing with what they saw. As he stepped over the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge, however, the clouds gave a humongous rumble. He winced, and looked up. They sky was once again an ominous, dark gray. He cursed lowly, and headed into a more windy path of buildings to block the rain. And there, as he jogged into a narrow side street next to a large brick building, he met a pitiful sight.

A girl, no doubt about his age, was passed out across a dirty sheet full of clothes. Her face was half hidden, mushed into her bag, and her arms were wrapped tight around it, holding herself to it so as not to slide off onto the cobblestone. He continued walking, willing himself to not get involved, but after just a few seconds, he rolled his eyes, and turned right back around, stopping just above where she lay. He looked her over before he did anything, and realized she was quite lovely. Her hair, which was thick, straight, and black, was cascading down her side and all the way down to her waist. Her arms and what he could see of the bottoms of her legs were pale and muscular, marked here and there with scratches and bruises. She was very thin, and although he could only see one of her eyes, he assumed the dark circle under her left had a twin under the other. Her small feet were bare and callused, as were her hands. He had never seen her before, and yet, she seemed familiar. Finally he leaned forward, and nudged her arm with his cane two times.

Faye awoke to a strange boy standing in front of her, leaning on a gold-topped cane with both hands. She jumped up and grabbed her bag, backing against the wall in her confusion. The boy immediately put up his hands in surrender, but Faye glared at him.

"What do you want?" She hissed.

He glared back. "I was just goin' to ask you if you wanted a place to stay."

Faye merely stared. She was half asleep and completely baffled. Who just offered a stranger a place to stay? What made him think she _needed_ any help?

"What?" She articulated, quite unable to think of anything else to say.

"I live in a lodging house with extra room. Do ya want a place to stay?"

Faye shook her head, trying desperately to clear it of dreams and fill it with the world around her. "I- I'm- _no_," she spat out finally, her eyes full of outright disbelief. "What makes you think I don' have nowhere to go?" She was rather embarrassed. Judging by the darkening sky and cooling air, she had slept all day long. Her clothes were soaked, she knew she looked awful, and now she was being pitied by some guy she'd never met before in her life. She nearly snorted. This boy obviously thought he could save her, that he could help her. As if she hadn't been on her own for years. As if she hadn't learned the way of the streets before she could tie her own shoes. As if he could offer her anything she couldn't find on her own!

The boy smirked. "My mistake. I suppose you always fall asleep in the rain to take a break from home."

Faye stared at him. A white-hot rage was sweeping through her, though she couldn't completely explain it to herself. Who did he think he was, talking down to a complete stranger? Yet his patience and silence made her uncomfortable. She swung her bag over her shoulder and walked away, not really knowing where she was going; but away from him was a start. As soon as she turned the corner she hid behind a vendor's cart, and watched him pass. He seemed a bit confused himself, she thought. Feeling a bit better, she watched as he strolled through the emptying streets.

Faye was getting colder, and she was extremely hungry. It had been at least three days since her last meal, unless she counted the rotten pear she'd managed to swipe from a trash can the night before. There was no point in crossing the bridge tonight; she would be hungry and cold there too. At least Brooklyn was familiar. She bit her lip. Without asking herself why, she picked up her bag, and slithered down the sidewalk against the buildings, following the strange boy from a distance. This was rather hard as he was moving quite slowly, and kept stopping to talk to people in the street. It was a challenge to find casual ways to stop when he stopped without looking suspicious. More than once she wished she had some accommodating articles to mess with... shoes, a hat, a shawl-but of course, she had none of these things.

Finally, she saw him climb the steps to a large building at the end of a street, meeting many other boys his age on the way inside. The windows were glowing a warm, orange color, and Faye felt a pang of longing as the door shut behind him. She put her bag down on the sidewalk once again, sat down on it, and leaned against the building behind her. She lit a cigarette, and smoked it methodically, watching boy after boy climb the stairs to the lodging house across the street. The smell of food reached her nose, and her stomach groaned and twisted up tight. She would have done anything for some meat, or even a moldy dinner roll... a long and painful drag from her cigarette helped her stomach forget for a moment.

Any sunlight that had been penetrating through the thick clouds had disappeared. Faye was once again exhausted, though she had done very little since she'd been wakened. She had little cover from the sky or from the hypothetical passing cop, but she felt oddly safe. It was not long before she fell asleep again, her head resting on her right shoulder.

Something lifted Faye up, high off the ground. She was moving forward, almost floating... the whistle of a train was loud in her ears. She felt someone place her down, and the train tracks rattling the bed beneath her... heard the clacking of the wheels... felt the wind in her hair... she opened her eyes. Her train car was moving fast through a green valley. In the distance, the valley opened up into a circle of bright white flowers and shining ponds. A large, snow-peaked mountain rose from the ground, and reflected in the water below... in the enveloping dusk, it was almost as blue as the sky.

"Oi! Spot! Wake up, Spot, you're late."

Faye jumped and sat up. As her surroundings came into focus, she gasped. She had no idea where she was, except that she was sitting on an olive green couch with a ratty wool blanket in her lap. But there across from her was the boy from the day before, sitting in an armchair he had obviously slept in. He was rubbing his eyes, and hadn't realized she was awake. As soon as he noticed, he sat back in his chair rather majestically, and looked her over.

"So what's your name, anyway?" He asked.

Ignoring his question for the moment, Faye looked around, remembering her dream. It had been so beautiful. Had that dream started when he brought her in? In any case, he had stayed downstairs with her to make sure she was all right. She was touched, and flustered for being so. She had forgotten his question now, and looked back at him without saying a word.

The boy rolled his eyes. "All right, forget it." He stretched, stood up, and made to walk towards the door.

"I'm Faye," she called, shaking her head to clear it. "My name's Faye."

He stopped, and turned back to her. "Faye," he repeated, looking her right in the eyes. As their gazes locked, a strange feeling crept over her. Spot's ice-blue eyes were full of depth, like she could dive into them, and splash, and float.

"Thanks for lettin' me crash, Spot," said a loud voice. Spot jumped slightly and turned.

"Sure Race," he said carelessly, nodding to the slightly short, brown haired boy that had just come down the staircase. "Tell the boys they should drop by sometime."

Race nodded, and then stopped when he saw Faye. She stood, gathering her bag. "Thanks, Spot," she said, looking at him again.

To her surprise, he smiled genuinely.

"Anytime." And, with a rather confused look on his face, he turned, and left.

Faye looked over at the boy named Race, who was staring at Faye as if he had never seen a female before.

"You uh... know him well?" Race asked.

Faye shook her head. "No," she said blandly. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Jus' wonderin."

There was an awkward moment of silence in which they both stood rather blankly and looked at each other. Quite unabashed, Faye gave him a once-over. She narrowed her eyes.

"You're not from Brooklyn, are ya?"

Race grinned. "Nope. Manhattan. Well, Queens really, but I ain't lived there-anyway, I'm headed to Manhattan after I get my papes. You?"

Faye pondered this for a moment. "Don't really know," she finally said, choosing to be honest. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a travel partner, just to get over the bridge, anyway. "Mind if I join ya?"

"Would be my pleasure, doll," said Race.

They walked out into the sun together, which was already much warmer than the day before. It set off a happy flutter in Faye's heart, and she smiled to herself and hopped off the porch, kicking pebbles as she went.

Race, despite his warm, non-Brooklynite manner, was a very pleasant walking partner for Faye. He could see she did not like to talk much, at least not at first, so he filled the silence all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge.

"I'm a lucky guy, really, that's all there is to it," he said lightheartedly, lighting himself a cigarette. Without meaning to, Faye shot an expression of longing at it. Her hand-rolled cigarettes had fallen victim to the rain. Race immediately handed it to her and lit himself another. Embarrassed, but grateful, Faye nodded her head in thanks.

"I'm expectin' ya don't know nobody across this thing, huh?" Race asked, gesturing towards Manhattan. "You should meet my boys, they're good fellas." Faye let out an involuntary and sarcastic bark.

"Ah," he said wisely. "Now I get it. Not a fan of the man, huh? Well, m'lady, I'ma change your mind. I'm a good guy, really. Might be a l'il stupid, but I ain't a creep."

Despite herself, Faye let out a small smile. "An' what about the rest a' your guys? They perfect gennlemen too?"

"I dunno 'bout perfect," Race grinned, delighted she was finally talking, "but they sure is good family." Those words affected Faye, though she did not show it. She had intended to part ways with Race on the other side, but he was becoming very intruguing.

"Yeah?"

"Yep. An' people like us... Well. We know how important it is ta have that. Blood or not."

Faye nodded in agreement, but said no more. Racetrack was also quiet for a while, observing Faye as if she were a painted landscape. She was fascinating to him, really. He'd walked in on Spot Conlon looking at her like he'd never seen him look at anyone, let alone a girl. It almost seemed like the loner leader of Brooklyn might respect her. In fact, if Faye and Spot's looks weren't so different, he would have sworn they were related. He had never seen a girl carry herself the way she did; she was silent, strong, and a little... scary. Her strange beauty was intimidating enough, even without her personality and energy.

"So... Race," Faye said suddenly. "Tell me 'bout your family."

Race smiled. He happily divulged everything he could think of to her. It was so rare he met anyone that wanted to know anything about him. Everyone that cared already knew everything, and everyone else simply looked over his head. Race told her about Blink, and Mush, and Skittery. He told her about Jack and the Strike, the Delancey brothers, Les and David, and even divulged his dislike for Jack's on-and-off girlfriend, Sarah. He told her about Kloppman, surrogate father to all the boys. He told her about selling newspapers, and Medda, and sneaking into picture shows.

Faye tried to drink it all in, slightly overwhelmed. It sounded as if this "newsie" lifestyle allowed them some fun. Sure, it was rougher than being a normal kid with a family, but it seemed more structured, and reliable where they were. At least they had each other... and of course a roof and a bed, as long as they had a nickle.

"...So anyway," Race said, finishing a long-winded story about Kloppman. "He's great, ya know. Dunno what we'd do without him."

"Sounds nice," Faye smiled at him.

"It is," Race agreed, nodding his head casually. The wheels in his head were turning. What if?... no. She would never go for it. Besides, it was a known fact girls weren't allowed to stay in boys' lodging houses. The whole place would get shut down, and Kloppman would lose his job.

Faye was feeling quite relaxed now, enjoying the conversation and the weather, when a bellow from behind her made her jump.

"Oy! Watcha doin' out here, Pony Princess!"

Race cried out as a hand reached around his neck from what appeared to be nowhere, and threw him to the ground. A knee crushed his left hand painfully, pinching it against the cobblestone. Two hands grabbed his right arm, immobilizing it. For a moment all he saw was white sunlight, but then Oscar Delancey's face was so close to his, he could taste his breath-which was no treat.

"Ain't so strong an' brave widout your cowboy an' your pirate, are ya?" He snarled. "Well, tell Kelly I said hey, an' give 'im one a' _these _for me!" He raised his arm, clearly to give Race the shiner of his life. In his unprepared state Race could only brace himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, leaving just enough space to curse the mother of both Delanceys. But to his surprise, the blow did not come. He opened his eyes, and discovered the most hilarious and shocking thing he had ever seen.

Faye's hands were grasped tightly around Oscar's arm, and were holding it back with ease. "What the hell ya think you're doin'?" She was yelling at him, quite unamused.

"Faye!" Race blurted out, flabbergasted. "He'll soak ya!" He jumped up to enter the fray. But Faye was deaf to his warnings.

"You ass," She growled at Oscar. "I ain't met no one wid good conversation in a long time, an' I ain't lettin' ya knock him out!"

Oscar snarled. "Get the hell _offa _me, ya lousy bit-"

Oscar did not have a chance to finish his sentence. In what looked like one fell swoop of smooth, liquid motion, Faye twisted Oscar's arm around, and sent him flying to the ground with a fierce kick to the stomach. She placed her bare foot on his chest. Race stood there in amazement, his arms limp at his sides and his mouth wide open.

"Name callin' is for people with the goods ta back it up," Faye hissed down at her victim. "You, on the other hand..." She looked down towards his abdomen with a smirk, "I don' think ya got the goods to back _any_thing up... if ya know what I mean."

Race choked, then gave a nervous giggle, and then he cackled. As Oscar limped away, Race patted Faye on the back, laughing so hard he was starting to snort. Ohh, he couldn't _wait_ to tell the boys about this.

Manhattan had swallowed them up, and for a sweet moment Faye forgot she was in foreign territory. Race was close to his neighborhood now, and was busy pointing out all of his regular joints and stoops. After a while, he changed the subject.

"Faye," he began in a low voice, "where the hell'd ya learn ta fight like that?"

"Brooklyn," she replied with a smirk.

Race shook his head. "Whatevah. You should get people ta pay ya for that, ya know. I can see the headline now: _'Tiny Mystery Girl From Brooklyn Fights Crime Across Manhattan.'_ Eh?" Race nudged her.

Faye rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Just as soon as one a' my fella sisters runs for mayor."

Race chuckled. In the short couple of hours they'd spent together, he'd grown quite fond of Faye. He was sad to think he might never see her again.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "let's go grab lunch, huh? I'll buy. Payment for savin' me from one helluva black eye, huh?"

At first Faye thought to refuse, but then, why not? The entire day had been new and strange, why stop now?

"All right," she shrugged, and she turned and looked at him.

"Great," Race said, and the large smile he wore eased her a bit. He led her in the direction of Tibby's. This was all part of his grand plan, of course. It was just about the time when everyone would be there, so she would _have_ to meet his friends. Maybe if she met more nice people she would stick around. Heck, maybe she'd even take a fancy to one of them; it was possible. For some reason, Race did not care if it wasn't him. It had been a while since he'd had a good kiss, but he already knew he wasn't her type. He wasn't sure if she was his type either.

When they reached the door of the restaurant, Race turned to her and grinned.

"Tibby's," he said, and without further explanation, he pushed the door open for her. Faye walked in, and to her great surprise, saw about twenty boys inhabiting the tables and booths around the room. None of them even noticed her entrance, but when Race stepped in beside her they all looked up. Curiosity and amusement was playing on every one of their faces. They all called out to Race to say hello, and Race waved casually to them, leading Faye over to a table in the corner, right next to a large window.

"Blink, Mush," Race said, grinning ear to ear at the sight of his eye-patched friend (though he was not sure why), "This is Faye." Blink was deeply immersed in his newspaper, and he looked up for just a fraction of a second, not even meeting her eyes. "Hey," he muttered, and he dived back into his article. Mush, on the other hand, stood rather clumsily.

"Hi," he said kindly, holding out his hand. "I'm Mush."

Faye bit her lip, shaking his hand. She had never been introduced by a handshake before.

"Faye," she repeated.

Race scooted into the booth, seating himself across from Mush, and Faye sat down next to him. Blink was across from her, and with one final look at his newspaper, he looked over at Race.

"Sorry," he said, downing his drink and then letting some ice cubes tumble into his mouth. "Sumthin' 'bout some family gettin' robbed 'round here... Wanted to see if I recognized the handy-work." He grinned then, and turned his attention to Faye. For the second time that day, a strange thing began to happen as she made eye contact with a stranger. She _knew_ those eyes... Or actually, that eye. She felt as if she'd known him forever with just one look at his face, which was finally fully exposed, and staring right back at her.

Blink longed for a magnifying glass to study every feature of this girl's face. They had not even spoken, and yet, he loved her. Everything about her was familiar; even the small ring that was dangling on a chord around her neck was speaking to him. Had he dreamed something like this? Was this some strange occurrence of deja vu? He shook his head, and though he tried to speak plainly as he stretched out his hand, his voice came out soft, and slightly weak.

"Faye, I'm Blink."

She stretched her hand across the table in return, so caught up with the idea of touching him that she did not even realize it was a handshake. What the hell was going on today? Was life always so abrupt and dramatic in Manhattan?

Their hands met, and both of them grasped on tightly. This was so... odd.

Race watched the two of them, his eyebrows so high up on his forehead they were threatening to jump ship and join the hair on his scalp. He had _never_ seen Blink react to a girl this way. And Faye, well... her mouth was nearly hanging open. He looked over at Mush, who was so amused with the scene that he had leaned back against the wall to watch.

Race took a long, noisy slurp from the bottom of Blink's cup, and it seemed to snap him out of his reverie. He pulled his hand away from Faye, and cleared his throat. Faye retracted her hand so quickly she nearly elbowed Race in the chest. She picked a menu up off the table and buried her nose in it.

"Well," said Race, a bit of swagger in his voice as he picked up another menu with a flourish of his hand, "Glad everyone knows each otha."

Mush let out a loud snort, and Blink threw him a glare that immediately sent him under the table, doing his best to look like he'd dropped something.

"Uh, hate to be rude," said Faye, beginning to feel like she would explode," but I gotta 'scuse myself for a mo... Race, could I bum a smoke?"

"Just smoke in here," Race said, scooting an ashtray across the table.

"Nah," Faye said, putting her most persuasive smile on, "I jus' wanna sit in the sun. I'll be back in. Get me a drink, won't ya?"

Puzzled at Faye's sudden willingness to not only speak, but ask for favors, Race handed over a cigarette. She smiled in thanks, and bolted from the table. As soon as Blink heard the tinkle of the little bell above the door, he leaned forward.

"Who is she?" He demanded.

"Ya know just's much as I do," Race shrugged. "Her name's Faye, she's from Brooklyn, and she was headed this way this mornin', so I walked wid 'er."

"That's a few more facts than I knew," Blink pointed out, annoyed. "Come on, help a buddy out."

Race was going to question him, but at the look on Blink's face, he changed his mind. He could give him hell later. Right now it looked like if Faye jumped off a cliff, Blink would follow her, shouting, "What did you say your name was agaaaaaiiiin...?"

"Alright! Really. I dunno nothin'. I came downstairs at the Brooklyn house an' her an' Conlon was havin' a starin' contest. Real weird. She asked me if she could walk with me." He paused, thinking back on the odd morning he had shared with her. "Oh! Ya gotta hear this. She had Oscar Delancey on his back, underneath her bare foot back past East River Park!"

Mush gave a whoop, and Race chuckled, sure he would relive that particular memory over and over until he died. Blink, however, had turned sheet-white, and snapped his head to stare at Faye through the window.

Faye lit her cigarette with her last match, then sat down on the edge of the walkway. What a stupid day. Her plan had been to get the hell out of Brooklyn, and everyone that meant anything to her at all. In fact, after her dream, she had planned on going straight to the trains, hopping in a car, and going wherever it took her. Yet for some reason she had come to eat with Race, and met this Blink. Something about his eyes, and lips... They were made of childhood, of innocent happiness, of the grass between her toes...

"Buy me last pape, lady?" Said a voice.

Faye turned her head to find a small boy who was barely taller than she was sitting down.

"I would, but I don' got no money," she said, almost apologetically. The boy scowled, and turned away, coughing.

"Les!"

The boy turned around, and his face was instantly alight with joy. "Cowboy!" He cried.

A tall, handsome young man was jogging toward him. "Les! How ya been, buddy?"

He picked him up for a moment, then put him back on his feet, messing his hair a bit. "I ain't see ya in a while."

"Pa barely lets me sell anymore now that Davey's at college," the boy explained, and Faye noticed all traces of his worker accent had evaporated. She raised her eyebrows, impressed. Not so bad for a little guy. He had certainly fooled her. The older boy that had been addressed as "Cowboy" looked up to see Faye staring at them. Faye expected him to look away, but instead he stepped forward.

"Hey," he said rather bluntly. "The name's Kelly." He grinned cockily, bowing slightly in her direction. "I realize my looks is always unexpected, but I ain't neva seen a doll stare at me so long before."

"Huh," Faye laughed slightly, flicking her cigarette away. She stood, clasping her hands behind her back. "I'm Faye."

"Pleased ta meet ya, Faye. This here is me good friend's l'il brother, Les."

Les squinted up at her, apparently not as impressed with her as Jack was. His look was scrutinizing, as if he was wondering why Jack was paying attention to her, and not him. Race's stories from the morning played through her head then, and a likely thought occurred to her.

"Your first name ain't Jack, is it? You Jack Kelly?"

Jack looked quite pleased with himself. "Why, yes it is. Already heard a' me, huh?"

"Don' flatter yaself too much. I been talkin' to your friend Race all mornin', he told me 'bout ya."

He shrugged. "Well, whateva. Still heard a' me, haven't ya?"

At that moment, the door to Tibby's flew open. Blink was standing with one foot inside, and one foot out on the pavement, his hand holding the door ajar. He looked as if at least one marble had popped loose.

"What the hell bit you?" Jack called to him. Blink did not respond. He walked over to Faye as if in a tunnel, grabbed her hand, and pulled her away.

"Come wid me," he whispered. Though the words were demanding, his voice was soft. Faye pulled her hand out of his, but walked with him.

"My bag..." she said, turning her head back towards Tibby's.

"Race's got it," said Blink. "Come on."

They walked in silence until they reached the harbor, and Blink sat down on a bench, gesturing for her to join him. She did as he asked, and straightened her back against the wood, staring out at the view before her. The seagulls were singing in the clouds, and there was a calming _thunk... thunk... thunk..._ as the water hit the walls of the harbor. She looked down at her feet, afraid to look over at Blink. He must have felt the same way, or he would not have pulled her away like that. Who was he? Had he hurt her? How could she have forgotten someone that impacted her so strongly at first sight?

Blink stared over at Faye, entranced. If she was who he thought she was, and he couldn't see how she couldn't be, really... He'd never met anyone else with those bright green eyes, or the oddly black hair. Well, besides her sister, anyway. So, if it _was_ her... Then he was the happiest man on earth as of this very moment. But why was she alone in Manhattan? What had happened to her over the years in his absence? He recognized her, but she was not at all the girl he remembered. He exhaled slowly, disturbed by the realization that she probably did not have any good news to share.

"Faye... Faye Jones?" He asked.

Her mouth opened in what was nearly a silent scream, and she turned to him slowly with bulging, scared eyes. "How the hell ya know my name?" She whispered.

Blink's jaw dropped. "It's really you," he muttered, so lost in his thoughts he didn't think to answer her. He turned his entire body towards her. He had never dreamed he would see her again. He found he could not speak now that his hopeful thoughts were confirmed. In an attempt to make things fair, he lifted his hand to his face, and flipped up his patch, revealing his other sparkling blue eye.

Faye tilted her head to the side, puzzled by this gesture. What was he trying to tell her...? But then a memory began to rustle like an animal sleeping in a pile of the leaves. It stood, and shook, and dusted itself off, before it began the long walk to the front of her mind. Slowly, the memories grew to their full height and filled with color. She was back in her wooden shack, but the neighborhood was full of life, and long summer days. She was screaming with glee on the tire swing as her father pushed her higher, and higher; she was letting James pull a splinter from her big toe; she was sitting on the dock with her sister, wishing her feet could reach the water like hers; she was under a large Sycamore tree at sunset, and little Charlie with the radiant blue eyes was pressing a copper ring into her hand. Faye gasped, and put both hands over the ring dangling on her neck, and then over her mouth. For a moment, she said nothing. But she could not hold in this joy.

"Charlie!" She cried. "Oh, Charlie! We thought you was dead, we thought... We thought ya died with them all..." Faye put her hands back over her mouth, unaware that they were shaking.

Blink knew he had to explain. It had been years, but he was certain if he didn't make things clear, she would be angry.

"I climbed out the window when the fire started," he said. "An' when my ma didn' come out... I ran. An' I never went back."

Raindrops were beginning to fall again; they landed on Faye's forehead and nose, but she did not move. She closed her eyes, her hand pressed to her lips. She would never forget that day. The screaming, the chaos, the destruction of her entire neighborhood in one factory fire. Her mother had not come out either. And neither had her father. Everyone had thought that her sister, Jane, and James's father, Abe, were the only two survivors; but here was the third, sitting before her.

It was almost too much to take. Just when she was sure the world had forgotten her, here was this strange day, these kind new people, and this beautiful, wonderful, old friend that had known her family... that only knew the Faye without a broken heart.

One raindrop was no longer seperate from another. The water was as expected: cold, and full of dying winter. Steam began to leave their mouths as they breathed, but still, they stayed put.

"C'mere," Blink whispered, and before she could protest, he pulled her over to him into a firm hug. At first it was comforting, but it didn't take long for Faye to feel a wailing beast ripping through her chest.

_Not now, please, not now!_

Her inner protests were useless. Thunder roared around them, covering Faye's gasps and cries in its din. She clung to Blink's shirt like a baby. If he let go, if she let go, the storm would suck her in and carry her away forever.

Blink was freezing, but he had never cared less. He was not sure why Faye was crying, but he did know there was nothing more important than holding her until it passed.

"You're okay," he said, over and over. "You're okay, Faye."

Faye let go of his shirt and wrapped her arms around him. His skin still smelled the same. The storm was heightening in its fury, filling the sky with flashes of lightning and the crashing of clouds. The storm inside Faye, however, was beginning to pass. She sighed, still crying, but not so hysterically. She pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eye.

Blink stared at her, a new feeling overtaking him. He had to kiss her. He knew he was crazy for doing it, but he lifted a hand to her cheek and pushed tears and rain away to the side. She did not protest, but looked right at him. Her eyes were so green, he could see them breathing, and growing... he placed his fingers under her jaw, pulling her towards him, and closed his eyes.

They kissed. Faye's lips were instantly on fire. His hands were under her chin, holding her head up so gently. Even sitting down, she could feel her knees going weak.

Lightning crashed again above them, and they jumped, looking up into the sky. It was still pouring, and until that moment neither of them had realized just how competely soaked they were.

"Come on," said Blink. He smiled, and stood, pulling her up with him. "Lemme take ya home."

"Ain't got one," Faye replied, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed by her homelessness.

He paused, but then shrugged and squeezed her hand. "Ya do now." He grinned, and began to run, playfully yanking on her arm as they sprinted through the empty streets.

"Come on," Mush whined, poking Blink's arm like a child. "Ya snagged 'er b'fore any a' us even got a chance ta sweet talk 'er. 'Least you can do is give us the details!"

They were sitting on Blink's bed in the bunk room. Jack was standing just before them, and Skittery and Race were sitting on the bed across from them. All of them were grinning, looking curiously at Blink.

Blink rolled his eyes. "Oh, poor Mush. First time in' livin' history he don't get the girl-QUIT POKIN' ME, YA BUM!"

Mush put his hands up in a form of surrender, then looked over to Race for support, but he just shrugged his shoulders when he caught Mush's expression.

"Don' look at me, I jus' brought 'er across the bridge," he chuckled, and he busied himself with lighting his cigar.

"Kloppy's lettin' 'er stay here?" Jack asked skeptically.

"He's gotta," Blink said seriously. "She ain't got nowhere ta go. 'Sides, she needs to have people 'round. I think she's been alone for a long time."

"Yeah, well," Skittery snorted, "Good luck throwin' that pitch ta the inspection board while they're bootin' Kloppy out the door."

"An' why would they do a thing like that?" Came an old man's voice.

Everyone jumped, and turned to the door. Kloppman was standing in the entrance to the bunkroom, looking tired, but amused.

"Blink, a word?"

Skittery threw Blink an apologetic look before he stood, and headed over to his bunk. Blink stood, and after taking a deep breath, he walked over to the man he had come to know very much as a father.

"What's goin' on, Kloppman?" He asked, allowing himself to be guided out the door and down the steps.

Kloppman smiled, but did not answer. "Join me in the kitchen, won't ya?"

"A' course."

This was a room hardly ventured into by the newsies. Blink imagined Kloppman knew this, and was using it for its likelihood of privacy. When he swung the door open, Blink was surprised to find Faye sitting on a stool by the counter, looking down at her feet.

"Found her outside on the porch," Kloppman said softly.

Another stool was beside it, clearly meant for Blink. Kloppman pulled himself onto the counter across from Faye, and looked up at Blink expectantly. Now feeling extremely nervous, Blink sat down next to Faye. She continued to stare at her feet, her face unreadable. He did not know how she was feeling, but he took her hand.

"Okay, Blink," Kloppman began. "B'lieve it'r not, I think I gotta grasp on what's goin' on here. This young lady clearly means a great deal to ya."

Blink nodded. Faye's cheeks turned slightly red.

"I think y'understand what could happen if I let her stay here. But-" He put up his finger, telling Blink not to interrupt. "I'm willin' ta try an' make it work. I jus' need ta know _she_ understands what she's gonna have ta do."

Faye was as silent as ever. She was ashamed for causing such a fuss.

Blink could read the shame on her face, and felt responsible for it. She had clearly been taking care of herself for years, and probably felt as if she did not need their help at all.

"What's she need ta do?" He asked quickly.

Kloppman did not answer. He was looking over at Faye with a look that crossed between sympathy, and understanding.

"Faye," he said kindly. "Please look at me. I only wanna speak with ya. I asked Blink ta join us ta put ya at ease."

Though she did not want to, Faye raised her head, and met the old man's gaze. She knew he was kind, and trying to help, but he had no idea what this was doing to her. She just didn't fit in anywhere. This was not her home, as Blink had called it only hours before. It was _his_ home. It was Race's home, Jack's home... She did not belong here.

"Listen to me, dear. I knows that look ya got in your eyes. Don't think for one second that if the laws were mine, I wouldn'a stamped your name on a bed upstairs already." He sighed, and slid down from the counter. He reached forward slowly, taking the hand that Blink was not holding.

"I jus' want ya ta understan', if ya live here, ya gotta live like a boy, think like a boy, dress like a boy... An' if the inspectors ever stink this place up, ya can't come back 'til they're gone. But listen." Kloppman got down on his knees, forcing Faye to stop looking away from him. "This is your home now, Faye. An' I'ma do my best ta keep ya safe."

Faye was so grateful for his kindness, she thought she might cry. She bit the sides of her cheeks, and nodded to show she understood him. Kloppman stood back up, patting her on the shoulder.

"An' when ya sign in, for the love a' God, don' write your name. We gotta think of a boy name for ya." He looked over at Blink, his eyebrows raised.

"We'll think a' one, Kloppy," said Blink, standing up. He took Faye's hand. "How 'bout we skip her signin' in tonight, huh? Off the record jus' this once?"

Kloppman smiled. "That'll do, Blink. Off ya go."

Faye stood, and exited with Blink, slightly dizzy. "Thanks," she said airily, but her words only hit the door that had already swung shut behind her. Blink kissed her cheek lightly, and smiled.

"He knows," he said, putting his arm around her. "Don' worry."

As they started up the stairs to the bunk room, Kloppman's voice came shouting through the door. "AN' NO SHARIN' BEDS!"

Faye collapsed into giggles, and Blink, relieved she was showing some signs of happiness, laughed with her.

Faye awoke with an unfamiliar feeling of a good night's sleep when Kloppman roused them the next morning. Still, it was early, and she was no morning person. In fact, before ten o'clock AM she was just plain foul. She grumbled, and pulled herself out of bed, dragging her heels to the washroom.

Jack yawned, lion-like, and watched Faye cross the room, her eyes brimming with sleep and foul temper. He grinned. It was very weird having a girl living with them, but he found he liked it so far. Sure, it was going to take some getting used to. Only last night most of the boys had either remembered she was there and excused themselves to the washroom, or had farted and belched in her presence only to turn bright red afterwards, bumbling apologies. He had been one of them, unfortunately. But Faye was a different breed of girl. First of all, rumor had it that she had flattened Oscar Delancey _and_ insulted his manhood in one meeting. Not to mention she had wiped the poker table clean, and earned herself the name "Brooklyn" for the most fantastic poker-face any of them had ever seen. This was an especially prestigious honor, as the nick-name "Brooklyn" was usually reserved for Spot Conlon himself. To top off the evening, Kloppman had come up to the room and given them all a long-winded speech about the birds and the bees. Faye did not blush once, and afterwards, she teased the hell out of everyone that had. And though the boys had been doing their best to repress their noxious gases and fluids, Faye seemed supremely unconcerned with them. She was mellow, and low-maintenance, and was not intimidated or embarrassed by all of them strutting around with no shirts on, bragging of their newest girl conquests or talking about their latest fight. She seemed right at home.

No, the overall consensus Jack had gathered was that Faye was well liked. Her good looks didn't hurt, of course, but now that she was already Blink's girl it was basically law to never look at her that way again. She was one of them, a sister- And apparently a sister that could kick some ass, which was always a plus.

Jack entered the washroom and took the sink next to Faye. She had completely immersed her head in her sink, which she had filled to the brim with cold water. When she surfaced, Jack couldn't help himself. He grabbed a handful of shaving cream, and slapped it on her cheeks. Barely avoiding shaking with laughter, he handed her his razor. She took it, so irritated it didn't occur to her that she wouldn't be using it.

"What?" He asked, throwing his arms out as if her look of fury were ludicrous. "You'se one of us now, ain't ya?"

Race walked in just then, and at the sight of Faye looking like Father Christmas with intent to kill, he howled with laughter.

"Ya look stunning, doll," he hooted, walking over to a sink. "Ain't nuthin that can bring me down taday! Thanks, Brooklyn. Pass me dat towel, will ya?"

Faye narrowed her eyes and pelted Race with the damp towel. She slammed the razor down, making sure to glare at everyone in the room before she dunked her head under the water once again. Her face hidden for a moment inside the sink, she giggled, sending shaving cream bubbles to the surface.

"Thirty papes for my friend here," said Race, slamming money down on the counter of the distribution office. "An' fifty fer me."

Faye stood in Distribution Alley, dressed head to foot in mens' clothing. She was wearing Race's pants, Snipeshooter's shirt, Boots's undershirt, Dutchy's vest, a pair of suspenders Kloppman found in the linen closet, shoes from Bumlets, Mush's socks, Blink's coat, and Skittery's hat. It had been quite a kerfuffle that morning, what with clothes literally being thrown at her from every direction. She was quite amused by the fact that she somehow matched, and was touched by the out-pour of generosity they'd shown her... Although she did have to tell them all to stop looking at her so she could get dressed.

Blink had wanted to teach Faye how to sell papers, but Race had somehow won the battle. Faye was slightly relieved. Part of her wanted to be with Blink all day, but she was was still getting used to not only getting to know him again, but being his girl at the same time. It would be nice to have a break.

The papers were shoved through the window, and Race handed her the surprisingly heavy thirty papers.

"We'll get ya a bag ta hold 'em," said Race. "Can ya carry 'em fer now?"Faye nodded.

The two of them walked towards Race's selling spot.

"All right," he said, looking at her seriously. "Da first thing ya gotta learn," he paused, lighting his cigar, "Is hawkin' da headlines. Ya know what I'm talkin' 'bout?"

"Nope," Faye shook her head.

"Awright- what ya do is-" he opened the paper to find a good example. "Ah. Here we go. Now look at dis headline."

Faye bit her lip, embarrassed. She had not been sure how she was going to crack the news that she couldn't read a lick, but he had just made it easy. She felt her cheeks darkening, and a look of dawning comprehension crossed over Race's face.  
"Oh," said Race, feeling extremely stupid. "Ya can't read, can ya?"

"Nah," said Faye, pulling a cigarette out of her braziere to distract herself.

Race cleared his throat, and hurried to light her cigarette for her. "Well dat's no big deal. Me an' da boys can teach ya real quick. But look. Dis headline says, "Mayor Thinking of Visiting Mexico". Now I don' know who da hell'd be interested in dat headline. So what we gotta do- is ya know, give it a li'l sumptin'- make it interestin'." Race thought for a minute.

"Mayor t'inkin' a leavin 'is wife! Found sumptin' more interestin' in Mexico!"

Faye stood aside and grinned as Race got a good group of buyers with his headline. He turned and smiled at her.

"An' da t'ing is, dey'd nevah buy it if ya didn' do dat. You'll learn ta get real good."

She nodded. "Right. Any certain place I gotta sell?"

Race shook his head. "Not really- jis' don' sell anywheah you've seen a newsie sellin'- ya might get inta a fight. Jis' find a empty corner. It should be fine."

"Mind if I come back when I'm done?"

"Not at all, my lady." He grinned at her, and she took her leave of him, heading down the walkway to find a spot she liked. "An' don' take off that hat!" He called after her.

Eventually Faye found a corner that she thought looked good, and started yelling out headlines- first using the one Race had made up for her. To her delight, she actually got a few buyers. A few people seemed to be wondering if she was a girl a boy, but most of them were not concerned with her long enough to figure it out. She thought she was doing quite well for her first day, but when she squinted at the foreign black and white symbols on the papers, she wished she had asked Race to tell her more headlines.

"Hey you."

Faye looked up. "Hey Jack."

"Ya havin' trouble readin'?"

"Yeah," Faye admitted, taken aback by his bluntness and her own honesty.

"Want me ta tell ya what da headlines are?"

"Sure," she nodded. "I already know the Mayor-Mexico one."

Jack smiled. "All right - here."

He read her all of the headlines he thought were workable. He turned to Faye, handing back her paper, watching her think. The one on her mind was "Abandoned Building Burned Down"- Jack had elaborated that a female cat had almost burned with it. She grinned once she'd thought of something, and yelled out her new headline.

"Female barely escapes life from inferno! Her home an' hundreds' a uthas gone wid' it!"

She got three more buyers. Jack looked at her in amusement. Yet another trick this mystery girl had up her sleeve: she was a natural newsie.

"Geez Faye, you'se gonna have me outta business." Faye laughed, and he hung around for a few more minutes before he headed off on his own again to continue selling.

Four hours later, Faye had no papers left. Pleased with herself, and the feeling of change in her pocket, she went looking for Race. Someone had even given her a quarter.

"Race!" she yelled, running over to him. He turned his head back to her, and grinned.

"You'se done already? Jiminy doll, you'se a natural."

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her quarter. "Lookie here, huh?" She grinned, waving it in his face. "I-got-a-quarter," she sing-songed, then shook her head, laughing at herself.

"Ha!" Race shook his head. "It figures. I teach 'er, and she gets paid better."

That night, Faye once again found herself strangely delighted by the company of the Manhattan boys. She entered the bunkroom, her face freshly washed, and sat down with Blink, Mush, and Race, who were sitting in a corner, smoking.

"How'd your first day as a newsie go?" Mush asked, passing her his cigarette.

"Pretty good," Faye said, shrugging her shoulders as Blink leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She accepted the cigarette, took a killer of a hit, and passed it back.

"Got a l'il to learn, but I did alright." She peeled off Snipeshooter's shirt and put it around her shoulders. In normal circumstances she would not have dreamed that a room full of boys could handle her wearing only a sleeveless, low collar undershirt, but then, these boys did not seem to be normal. Even Blink didn't do a double take; he only smiled, pulled her to him, and kissed her again.

"Yeah, someone thought Brooklyn here made one helluva cute boy," said Race, feigning a scowl. "Gave 'er a flippin' quarter for a paper."

Blink laughed. The vibration in his chest was like the warmth of a fire to Faye, and she smiled, pressing her face against him. As she looked around the room, she could not suppress a feeling of outstanding luck. She recalled her childhood, remembering summer days that never ended until that strange time between dawn and dusk... when the lavender sky turned the world light blue, windows glowed orange in the houses of her neighborhood, and mothers came onto their porches to call their children inside. For the first time in years, Faye remembered what it was like to have somewhere to go when the sky darkened. She was inside now, basking in the warm, orange light, looking out at the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART II: SECRET**

Blink awoke to the clanking of metal coming through the nearest window. They were all open as usual due to the warm season, but the idea of someone being out on the fire escape at this late hour worried him. Either someone was not having a good night, or someone was trying to come in that did not belong there. He swung his head down to inspect the bed below him. Race was fast asleep, snoring as usual. His next place to check was Faye's bed, and sure enough, it was empty. Without bothering to put anything over his long-johns, he slid out of bed, and stuck his head out the window.

Faye was standing with her back to him, her arms resting on the railing of the fire escape. She was sniffing slightly, and as he watched, she lifted a shaking hand to wipe her cheek.

"Faye?"

She jumped violently, and snapped her head around. "What?" She snapped. When she saw Blink standing there, she closed her eyes. "Sorry. Ya scared me."

"S'all right," Blink said gently, climbing through the window. "You okay?" He walked up to her and took her hand. Her usually clear eyes were dull, and puffy. "Faye... You been cryin."

Faye looked away from him. Though the nightmares had stopped for a few weeks, they eventually had come back, and with vigor. She knew that Blink had no idea about how her sister had died. This was not his fault, of course. It would have been illogical for him _not_ to assume that she had died in the fire with everyone else. Aside from not wanting to talk about it, she was not sure why she was keeping the true events from him. In her heart, she did feel slightly responsible for what had happened; still she knew that Blink would never feel the same way, so what was she so scared of? If she did not tell him intentionally, he would undoubtedly hear her mumbling in her sleep one of these nights... Or somebody would, anyway.

"I'm fine," Faye shrugged him off, staring out into the night. "Really."

"I know you're fine," Blink persisted, "But that don't change that you been cryin'. What's got ya up so late?" He leaned in towards her, forcing her to make eye contact with him. "You know ya can tell me anythin', Faye."

She closed her eyes yet again. Though she was considering telling him about Janie, there were much deeper, darker secrets that he had no idea were part of her heart. She sighed.

"All right, I... Janie didn' die in the fire," she said abruptly.

Blink's face lit up. "What? Where is she? How is she?"

"She's dead." Even after fifteen months of knowing Jane was gone, saying it out loud was like falling on a knife. Her lip trembled, and she looked away, ashamed of herself.

Blink stared at Faye's profile, trying to understand what he had just heard. She escaped the fire, but she was dead? What could have happened to Faye and Jane after losing their parents? Hadn't that been enough?

"What happened?" He croaked.

Faye slammed her hand down on the metal railing- Not in anger, but in frustration with herself. It was like torture to talk about. She felt weak, and her throat was screaming to release the sobs bubbling in her chest.

"Was ya dreamin' about it? That why ya can't sleep?" Blink asked intuitively. She nodded. "Well... Maybe if ya say it out loud... Ya won't dream about it no more."

Faye had heard this wive's tale before. For the first time, it gave her comfort. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and began to tell Blink the story.

"Well... Me an' Janie, we went through a lot. Mama an' Papa died in the fire... She was the only survivor besides James's fatha. An' um, the ladies in the neighborhood was real nice. Took us in for a while, so did James's dad. But it couldn' last foreva like that, so we left. An' Janie raised me by herself. We both worked, a'course. Janie tried ta do it on 'er own, but it jus' didn' make it all meet. We went back ta the ol' neighborhood, an' lived in the old house. All the stuff was still there, it was... Real spooky. Neighborhood was abandoned, but there was mama's lace on the dinner table... Course, the walls was fallin' off, holes in the floor, rats everywhere, but compared ta where we'd been it wasn' so bad. We was both used ta comin' home to a empty house, dependin' on who was workin' late, an' one day I came home thinkin' it wasn' no different, an' I was... I was wrong." This was the hard part. Blink was being mercifully quiet, asking no questions and barely even reacting to her words. She knew he was doing it to make it easier. So she plowed on.

"I walked in, an' it was pitch black. Moon always forgot about our side a' the street," she said bitterly. "An' I was in the kitchen, lookin' for my matches, an'... I heard it. Jane. Whisperin' ta me. I... Ain't neva heard nothin' so scary in my life. I didn' know what ta do."

"What was she sayin'?" Blink prompted her, speaking for the first time. She was struggling, he could see it. He wanted her to get it all out. He had done it long ago, and only then had he begun to feel better.

"She was askin' me ta help her," Faye said thickly. "Ta help her an'... That "he" was in the house, that he was gonna kill 'er. I got so panicked, I couldn' light the damn candle. Couldn' see a thing, an' I started goin' from room ta room, lookin' for 'er, but I couldn' see nothin'. An'... An' then, she stopped whisperin'. An' I lit the candle. An' I found 'er in our room," she said, her voice becoming more and more high pitched, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Throat slit, her blood all over her clothes an' the floor..." Faye remembered that moment vividly. She had dropped to her knees, crying to her sister, not believing for one moment what she was seeing. She had crawled over to her, and lifted her head up, and there met the most heart-breaking and gruesome sight of her life.

Faye collapsed on the fire escape, and vomited over the side. Blink was next to her immediately, holding her hair back and whispering things she could not understand but she was sure were sweet. She knew at that moment the nightmares would not stop. They would never stop. She could have saved her, or at least done _something._ But no. When Janie really needed her, Faye had run around like a headless chicken, scared so silly she could not even realize what was going on... What was really at stake. Her sister. The life of her sister.

Blink pulled her over to him, rocking her back and forth. He wanted to be strong, and give her comfort, but the force of tears building under his skin was great. His voice was shaky, but his words were clear.

"Faye, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

It seemed like hours ticked by as they sat out there, swaying together in the warm night air. Blink did not loosen his grip on her once. The few tears he let slip through landed gently on Faye's forehead, calming her slowly. She had forgotten- Blink had loved Janie too. One fateful summer day, he had been pushed in the East River by a neighborhood bully before he knew how to swim. Janie had jumped in and saved him.

"Oh," Faye sighed, squeezing him tightly, "I'm so glad ya loved her too. I'm so glad..."

Blink kissed her on the forehead. "Me too." He bit his lip, wondering if he should ask the question that was screaming in his head. Before he could overthink it, he let it out. "Ya know who did it?" The bitterness in his voice was tangible.

Faye paused. All the hatred in her stomach rose to her throat, and she spat it out with his name. "Mikie."

Blink gasped- He couldn't help it. "_Mikie?_" He asked in disbelief. He was surprised by how easily the old man's face came to mind. Bumpy, wrinkled, filthy, and cross-eyed. His breath stank so badly of grain alcohol it had been a running joke in the neighborhood to never light a match within a mile of him. "Crazy Ol' Mikie, the useless drunken loon a' the-"

"Yes." Faye shook her head. "'Couple years after ya left, he started takin' quite a likin' ta my sister. She was the only person that would talk decent to 'im." She snorted. "Fat lotta good that did."

"Did they catch 'im?" Blink asked. He was shaking. If Faye answered "no" he was not sure what he was going to do.

"Yeah, they caught 'im. But they jus' threw 'im in a asylum. No one really cared 'bout Janie, 'cept the people who knew 'er. Bunch a coppers jus' saw a street rat girl that got 'erself inta trouble."

"Pigs," Blink whispered maliciously.

"Yeah." Faye leaned her head back on him again. "I'm sorry I woke ya."

Blink laughed. "You kiddin', doll? You really think I'm even thinkin' 'bout that?"

Faye smiled. "No. I jus... Don' wanna talk about Jane no more."

"Okay," Blink nodded. "Then we won't." He kissed her cheek, and squeezed her. "We won't."

"Thanks," Faye whispered. All this crying and talking had drained her. Her bed had never seemed more inviting. "I think I'm tired now," she said, pushing herself to her feet.

Blink stood as well. "Yeah, you get some sleep. Come on." He made to crawl through the window, but Faye grabbed his hand, pulling him back.

"Charlie?" The question she wanted to ask seemed irrelevant to what had just passed, but in her mind it was still important. "Is it all right if... If I call ya Blink?" She tilted her head to the side, waiting for his answer. It would have made more sense for her to feel comfortable calling him by the name she had always known, but she did not. He smiled.

"Actually... Yeah. I'd like that. Kin'a spooky to hear the old one these days."

"Yeah," she agreed vaguely.

They climbed back into the bunk room. When Blink kissed her goodnight and made to head to his bed, Faye did not let his hand go.

"Um..." She said, feeling rather silly. She was embarrassed to ask for it. "Do ya think?..."

Blink understood immediately. He smiled. "A' course."

Faye sighed with relief, and Blink crawled into bed with her. She felt so safe with him by her side, she barely had time to say goodnight before her eyes fluttered, and she fell asleep. No more nightmares came to haunt her before the morning, and Blink slipped back to his bed before Kloppman's footsteps echoed up to the bunkroom.

It had been just over a month since Faye had come to stay with the newsies. As promised, some of the boys had been giving her reading lessons, usually at night while everyone else was out. Mush had helped her a couple of times, as did Jack and Blink, but her main teacher was Race. He had quickly become one of the best friends she'd ever had, and his light-hearted, witty manner made it much easier for Faye to feel comfortable learning something from him. When she grew frustrated, they would just sit out on the fire escape and talk, chain smoking cigarettes and occasionally drinking from a stolen bottle of whiskey. Faye enjoyed these hours with Race very much, and looked forward to them every time they scheduled a lesson. It was a little odd to be getting so close to her boyfriend's best friend, but the connection they had conquered those worries.

There was something liberating about learning to read. Every time Faye looked at a newspaper and got the jist of a headline, or what was going on in the world, her chest swelled with pride. It had been so very long since she'd learned something new. Faye was feeling just this way as she sat down on the steps of Distribution Alley next to Race. He was scanning the papers for the headlines.

"So," He said, not looking toward her but grinning nevertheless, "I gotta question for ya, Brooky."

Faye put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Race had recently shortened her "Brooklyn" nickname to a much more girly, lovable "Brooky." Some of the other boys stuck to the original, but for the most part, the new one was quickly catching on. Though she hated to admit it, every time she heard it she felt more like a part of a family.

"What is it?" Faye asked, her voice sardonically desperate. "Tell me Race, tell me!"

"Yeah, keep yer hat on," Race rolled his eyes. "I was jus' wond'rin what the illusive, natural newsie, Delancey beatin', sailor mouthed, poker playin' girl did before I met 'er." His good nature was unmistakable, but Faye felt her blood go instantly cold.

"Um. Lotsa things," she said quietly. She pressed her lips together, pretending to read over the paper in her hands.

"Yeah," said Race, not reading her change in mood. "Like what? Tap dancin'? Street performin'? One man band? Or I guess Lone Doll Band, in your case."

Faye's hands were beginning to shake. Here it was. Her secret. Her worst, dirtiest secret that she'd sworn to bury with the rest of her old life in Brooklyn. But recently, things that had been buried were rearing their ugly heads... today was just no exception.

"Let's drop it Race, huh?"

"Aw, c'mon," Race smacked her arm. "It can't be that bad!"

Faye threw down her paper in frustration. "I _don't_ wanna talk about it, Race! Now, leeme alone, an' get the hell outta my business!" She threw her pile of papers at him, and stalked off. Race was so shocked he did not even call after her.

"I'm tellin' ya man, I really don' think I said nothin'," Race shook his head. He had just replayed his conversation to Blink, who had been looking for Faye all day. Blink sighed.

"Yeah, I dunno. She gets like that sometimes."

"I ain't never seen 'er like that," Race said, raising his head. "The way she looked at me, I thought she was gonna spit in my eye."

Blink chuckled. "Look, I'm sure she'll show up soon, an' I'll talk to 'er. Okay? Don' worry about it, she prob'ly was jus' blowin' off some steam." He patted his friend on the back, and walked into the washroom. Once away from Race's prying eyes, his smile vanished. Faye was keeping something from Race, which meant she was keeping something from him. What was worse was it was obviously hurting her. In the back of his mind, Blink knew what Faye had done to keep herself fed. He did not want to believe it, and he would not say it. He almost didn't want to ask her about it, but he knew he had to. And he had to be able to handle it. When she finally did enter the bunkroom an hour later, he wasted no time in getting her on the roof to be alone with her.

"So, where'd ya go today?" He asked, trying to sound casual. He was the worst liar in the world, and the worst at hiding an alterior motive in his tone of voice in situations like this. Faye was also distracted, however, and did not notice.

"Just kin'a walked around, ya know," she said vaguely. "Took the day off."

"B'fore or after ya threw all ya papers in Race's face?" Blink knew that had been a stupid thing to say before he finished his sentence. "Oh, God Faye, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot-"

"Nah, it's all right," Faye said quickly. "I shouldn'a... I'll talk to 'im later." She paused, looking at Blink out of the corner of her eye. "Is he mad at me?"

He put his arm around her. "Nah, a'course not. Jus' wond'rin what he did ta make ya act like that." Faye sighed, and put her face in her hands, wondering if the question was coming. Had Race told him what their conversation had been before she had acted like an idiot? She knew it was extremely likely, but Blink had not mentioned it yet. Then again, maybe he was just circling like a hawk, trying to figure out the best angle to attack from.

"Look, Faye," Blink began, and Faye knew she was right.

"Please, Blink," she begged, looking him straight in the eye. "Please, can't we jus' leave this one alone?"

"What did ya do b'fore ya came here?" Blink asserted. He completely ignored her request. It hurt his pride that Race had discovered a secret before he had. And now, it hurt even more that she did not want to talk about it with him. Didn't she trust him? Hadn't he proved he would always be there?

"_Please_," Faye repeated. "Please."

"No," Blink refused. "No, Faye. I told ya everythin' about me, it ain't fair! I wanna know, an' you'se my girl, an'..."

"An' what?" Faye snapped. She stood up, flicking his arm off her shoulder like a poisonous spider. "And _what?_ You upset, Charlie?" She saw him flinch at the rebirth of his old name, but at the moment, she did not care. "You upset that you don' know absolutely everythin' I been through the past eight years? Lemme tell ya sumthin'," she hissed. "I died that day at the factory. You got it? I _died._ An' I didn' run like you did, I _stayed_. An' the things me an' Janie went through, an' did to survive, an' what I did once I didn' have her no more, would blow your goddamn mind!" She began to pace up and down the roof, her hands wringing themselves together like gears on a machine. "Why you askin' me, anyway? You can't figure it out? A smart guy like you? What choice in work do ya think could embarrass a girl like me? Huh? Use your goddamn head!"

Blink stood. His face was washed of all demands. He looked as though he might cry. "Faye, forget it, all right? I'm sorry, I-"

"Oh-HO!" Faye cut him off, and she walked up to him, pointing her finger right between his eyes. "Now I understand. You don' really wanna hear it. You don' _wanna_ know your girl ain't so perfect. Well, here it is, Charlie! I was a whore! I sold myself in the street to men like Mikie all day long, how ya like me now?" She heard her last words echo above her panting. She had not realized how loud she was yelling. "I'll tell ya what," she whispered with venom. "I'ma make this real easy on ya." She leaned in, and kissed him. Then without another word she sprinted to the edge of the roof, jumping down onto the fire escape.

"Faye! WAIT!"

But she did not wait. She clambered through the window, nearly falling flat on her face on the other side. Many of the newsies looked up questioningly, but she ignored them. She ran over to her bed, grabbed the sheet she still kept tied around her belongings, and tore out of the bunk room like a bat out of hell.

Race's feet pounded through the dark streets, Jack at his side. Faye was a good twenty yards in front of them, running like he'd never seen anyone run before. There was already a stitch in his chest, and she was showing no signs of tiring.

"Faye!" He yelled, trying to speed up. "Faye! Slow down girl, c'mon!" Jack was wheezing beside him, but he did not slow his pace either. Race could see he was just as worried as he was.

"C'mon Faye!" Race called out to her again, his heavy breathing slowing down his words. "We'll... chase... ya... all... night... if... we gotta! Quit runnin, c'mon!"

To his surprise, Faye stopped. She spun around, and at the sight of Jack, who had been completely silent during the chase, she groaned and threw her bag to the dirty ground.

"Faye, now stop!" Jack said. "What's goin' on? I jus' wanna-"

"Get in my business?" Faye cackled madly. "Well, get in line, Cowboy!"

Jack, who had not been privy to the events of the rest of the day, looked shocked. "What the hell are ya talkin' about?"

"Look!" Faye yelled. "Jus' go home, both of ya, an' ask Blink why he's ashamed of his girl, an' ya won' have no more questions!"

Race stepped forward. "Faye, he ain't-"

"Get _out_ of it, Race!" She shrieked, and before they could get in another word, she picked up her satchel once again, and catapulted herself into the darkness.

"Faye!" Race moved to follow her, but Jack's hand was pushing firmly against his chest.

"Nah," he said wisely, shaking his head. "She's crackin'. Let 'er be."

"Jack, it's late, who knows what-"

"She can fight betta than you, Race," Jack stated harshly. "An' she knows these streets jus' as good as the rest of us. Ain't nuthin' we can do."

Race knew Jack was right, but that did not stop him from being furious. He refused to look at him the rest of the walk back to the lodging house. When they got to the steps, Blink came tearing out the door.

"I tried ta follow 'er," he panted desperately. "Please tell me ya found 'er."

"Yeah, we did," Race said. He looked up at Jack, and nearly spat at him when he said, "An' then we lost 'er."

He pushed past Blink, and went inside. Blink looked to Jack now, his eyes searching him for answers.

"What's he mean? Where is she?"

Jack pushed Blink down onto the steps, and sat next to him. "Look," he said, lighting a cigarette. "She ain't the kin'a doll that runs ta be chased, all right? She'll be back when she wants ta be."

"Ya know Kelly," Blink snapped, "I really ain't in the mood ta have ya tell me things ya think I don' know about my girl."

Jack shrugged. "I dunno what's been goin' on, but I do know what I jus' saw. We chased her 'bout a tarnal mile from here, Blink, an' she wasn' even breathin' hard. She's runnin'. When she's done runnin', she'll be back."

Blink wanted to tear Jack's head off. He knew what Faye was doing, of _course_ he did. But that did not change the fact that he wouldn't be able to sleep until he figured out where she was. Ideas had been spinning in his head for the past half hour of his own fruitless searching through the streets. He knew for sure she was probably headed for Brooklyn. Where from there, though? Her old neighborhood? Doubtful. And that was certainly not where she would go if she didn't want to be found. Perhaps to James? She had mentioned that James had a nice little apartment with his sister and father... But no. He did not think she would go there either. She probably would not go_ to_ anyone. Someone would have to find her. So... Where? Where was she?

Faye bent completely over, unsure if she needed to cry, laugh, or throw up. Her left hand clung to the railing of the Brooklyn bridge, her right digging into the cramp in her side. What had she done? Maybe if she just went to sleep, she would wake up and find she had not insulted her closest friend, the man she loved, and a boy that had adopted the role of her older brother since the day she had met him. She groaned, and spat down at her feet. Oh, yes. She was going to vomit.

"Well, if it ain't Miss Green-Eyes," came a strangely familiar voice.

Faye spun around, wiping the side of her mouth with her wrist. It took a moment to adjust her vision, and then she saw him. Spot was a mere few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked quite pleased with his element of surprise.

"You again, huh?" Faye grunted. She put her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. "Always find me at the _most_ flatterin' times. Tell me.. Ya jus' wait in the shadows 'til it's amusin' ta pop out?"

He grinned. "Close." He walked towards her, scratching his neck. "But I ain't been followin' you. You'se in the wrong neighborhood for that. I," He said, gesturing to the bridge that stretched to Manhattan, "Stay on this side."

Faye nodded. "Right." She was too weary to keep up the banter. Though she and Spot had exchanged barely more than a few words at their first and last meeting, she knew him well. She was sure it was the same on his end of it too.

"Ya know what I realized a while after I met ya?" She asked, still slightly breathless. She pulled out her cigarettes and dropped herself onto the pavement. "I'd heard of ya. B'fore I met ya."

Spot sat down as well. "Oh yeah?"

Faye nodded as she lit her smoke. "All my life, actually. I grew up in deep borough, though. We jus' heard fairy tales."

Spot smirked. "What makes ya think they were fairy tales?"

She snorted. "Look, I can prove betta than anyone that a skinny sonuvabitch can do some damage, but I don' know about a whole lotta goons with chains an' bats, against you an' a pocket full a' marbles."

Spot let out a laugh. "You'd be surprised." He was lost in a past time and place for a moment, but he quickly recovered, and looked back to Faye. "That's what they's sayin' these days, huh?"

Faye shrugged. "Eh, that was jus' one of 'em. They came an' went like the seasons. So... " She cleared her throat. She had been longing to know the truth since the day she realized who he was. "Tell me, Spot. Ya ever heard a' me?"

Spot did not look away, and his answer was blunt. "Yeah. One a'the scarlet sisters from the river. I knew who ya were the night I carried ya in."

Faye nodded, and took a huge hit from her cigarette. She waited for embarrassment to trickle up from her belly like waking limbs, but... it didn't. She actually sat quite still for a moment, surprised, and... delighted. Finally, she looked at him, and raised her eyebrows by way of saying, "Oh yeah?"

He nodded too, understanding her plainly. "Heard from plenny a' my boys 'bout the good lookin' sisters that lived alone by the river. An' I heard even more 'bout the girl that was tough enough ta stay there after the other one got cut the hell up."

"That why ya stayed downstairs wid me?" Faye asked quickly. His harsh words and honesty were such relief.

"Yes an' no," he replied. "Most of 'em wouldn' do nuthin' ta hurt ya, but we always got stray newsies comin' in an' out we don' know so well." He shrugged. "I don' think more than two of 'em actually knew ya as customers. Rest just heard about ya. Like me."

"How 'bout that," Faye said quietly. Spot was looking out at the water now, and it gave her time to thoroughly inspect him. The eyes that had captured her so instantly in their previous meeting were now hidden in the dark, but his profile was commanding. She felt as if he were her kin, just watching the way he breathed. It was amazing to think of him, the boy everyone in her neighborhood had chalked up to urban legend, hearing the same kind of stories about her all his life. She wondered what was _really_ true about him. Where was his family, really? Were they dead? Or did he run away? She doubted the latter. In her experience, often times people became leaders because they had less to lose. Not having a family certainly qualified for having less to worry about, though she hated to think of it that way. Being an orphan was a strange experience, really. She was shocked every day by the amount of her kind wandering the streets. No matter how tough you were, the world was a scary, different place once your parents were gone, she thought.

Spot looked at her carefully. She was speaking steadily, and her manner was calm, but her hands were like linens in a heavy wind. Her hair was both frizzy, and glued to her head with sweat, and her moonlit, pale face was red and irritated from the salt of her crying. He raised his eyebrows just as she had a moment before.

"Bad night?" He asked.

"I look it, don't I?" She whispered.

"Well, I ain't gonna lie," Spot said simply. "Ya look like shit."

Faye laughed, surprising herself. "Thanks, Conlon."

He grinned. "C'mon," he said, raising himself to his feet and offering her a hand. "Ya shouldn' be out on the streets like dis. People'll start thinkin' you'se human. An we don' want that. Do we?"

Jack strode towards the Brooklyn docks, his eyes already scanning the crowd for Spot. He hated having to walk through all the boys just to get to him, it was always such a hassle. But it was a favor for Blink-and Blink was not the only one getting more anxious about Faye's absence. It had been four very long weeks, with no sign of her.

He spotted Tip, Spot's ever-present body guard, staring over towards the edge of the dock opposite him. Was that a girl next to Spot? Had he finally found a...

"Holy shit," Jack said out loud, disbelieving. He had come all the way here to ask Spot to keep a look out for Faye, and now found there was no need. There was no way Spot didn't know Faye was Blink's girl; he made it his business to know _all_ of Manhattan's personal business. Yet there she was-there _they_ were. He watched as Spot messed her hair in a loving sort of way, and pulled her to him.

No way.

Jack turned on his heel, and started back towards Manhattan, his pace much faster than it had been before.

For the first time in a long time, Jack was not sure what to do. It would have been a very bad idea to question Spot and Faye in front of everyone. He had done the right thing by leaving. But now that he was heading back home... What was he supposed to do? Tell Blink? Send him hurtling off to Brooklyn like a mad hornet? Not a good idea. Throw a sack over Faye's head and carry her all the way back to Manhattan? Definitely not.

It seemed to take forever to get back home. Every step Jack took, he was tempted to turn right back around, march into the beehive of Brooklyn, and demand to know what in the hell was going on. But his common sense kept him Manhattan-bound, wondering what to do, and who to tell.

As if the universe were sympathetic to his plight, when Jack next looked up, he spotted Race turning a corner just a block ahead of him. He broke into a sprint, turned the corner Race had disappeared behind moments before, and saw him, only halfway down the block, fishing through his pockets for something.

"Race!" Jack called, jogging to catch up with him. "Race! Man, am I glad I ran inta you. I need a favor."

"Yeah, well, l'il busy today Kelly," Race said coldly. He still had not forgiven Jack for stopping him from chasing Faye down. He knew it wasn't Jack's fault that she still hadn't returned, but it _had_ been nearly a month, and Race couldn't help but wonder if he could have caught up with her, and fixed the damage he'd caused. He felt responsible for the whole blow out. If he had just kept his nose tucked away and his mouth shut... but, he hadn't.

"It's about Faye," Jack said.

Race stopped and looked up at Jack, full of worry. He was afraid to ask what came next.

"What'd Brooklyn know?" He finally said, taking out a cigarette just in case.

Jack shrugged. "Didn' really have ta ask 'em anythin'. I saw 'er on the docks with all of 'em lookin'... Well, lookin' pretty chummy wid Spot. I think she must be stayin' with 'im."

This was not what Race had expected at all; his cigarette fell from his fingers, landing sadly in a mud puddle.

"Whaddya _mean_ she's stayin' with Spot?" He cried. "Oh, no. Blink's gonna kill 'im!"

Jack raised his eyebrows dubiously.

"Oh, all right," said Race, and he picked up his cigarette, brushing it so distractedly that he ripped the wet papers, sending a sprinkle of tobacco down onto his shoe. "Blink's gonna _try,_ and Spot's gonna kill _him_. Great. Talk about sailin' a thousan' ships! If Spot kills Blink, I gotta kill _him._ Then his boys'll kill me."

Jack chuckled. He couldn't help it. The idea of Race trying to best Spot in a fight was funny enough, but he had not realized how ridiculous it was to assume anything about Faye's actions until Race had started talking.

"Look," he said, trying to rationalize, "Maybe it ain't all that. Maybe she really is jus' _stayin'_ there. I say we go find 'er, and find out ourselves."

"You think we should go to Faye without Blink? Are ya crazy! No way. No way."

"C'mon Race, y'ain't thinkin' sense," Jack persisted. "You're one a' her best friends, she prob'ly wouldn' talk ta me anyways. Come on."

Race sighed. He wanted to see Faye. He wanted to apologize, smooth things over. But what if Blink found out? He would be livid. Finally, he threw away his ruined cigarette in defeat, and nodded morosely.

"All right," he mumbled. "But we gotta go now."

"Good." Jack led the way, and Race walked behind him, dragging his heels towards Brooklyn.

The newfound friendship between Faye Jones and Spot Conlon was the biggest piece of gossip Brooklyn had enjoyed for quite some time. As far as the newsboys were concerned, it was mystical enough to make for at least a few good headlines; for one, they were not romantically involved. Spot had never befriended a female before, unless... well, unless he was sleeping with her. Yet for the past three and a half weeks, they had been inseparable. They sold papes together, ate together, talked and walked together, and Spot had even given her the top bed to his bunk at the lodging house so he could keep an eye on her at night. Girls were either plain curious or insanely jealous, while boys sat on a curve that bent from slightly, to very, angry that a girl was getting so close to their leader. What was most shocking, however, for those who were close enough to see it, was the effect Faye and Spot had on each other. Faye, who was known to be a boy soaking, sailor mouthed loner- she smiled, joked, and giggled when in Spot's presence. Spot became laid back, and even kind around his new friend. Though they still both had a knack and palpable love for trouble, when they were together it seemed more like a well-planned path towards an endearing destruction.

Faye sat on the docks on an overcast afternoon, her legs swinging freely below her. She was watching Spot have a very serious conversation with a newsie, Buckle, from Queens, on the side of the dock; the impostor with his back to the water. Though he was a bit of a bully, no one in Brooklyn seemed as intimidated by Buckle as they were annoyed. He had shown up that morning, and had been tailing Spot (and therefore also tailing Faye) all day, demanding all kinds of "brethren-ship." From what Faye could discern, it seemed like Buckle had come all the way out there just to ask Spot to soak some boys in Harlem that were giving his newsies trouble. Buckle certainly went to a lot of trouble to seem like a young man with a ferocity in nature and a quick fist, but Faye only saw a whiny brat that did not want to get his hands dirty. She did not express these feelings to Spot, however. He had sense enough to see through him just as she did.

She threw the last crust of her sandwich to the seagulls, and jumped down from her crate, grinning in Spot's direction. It was time to have some fun. She strolled down the pier, her hands in her pockets, whistling loudly. A few of the boys looked up curiously.

"I'm sayin', Spot," Buckle brushed his hair out of his eyes with a capricious wave of his hand, "How's m'I supposed ta know ya got my back? Huh? When have ya ever shown me that Brooklyn's with its Queens brothas?"

Spot smirked. "Tell _me_ sumthin Buckle. How is it ya only wanna be my "brotha" when ya need someone's ass kicked?"

A few of the boys surrounding them sniggered. Buckle's face was turning an unflattering shade of magenta.

"I's been here before, I brought ya girls, an'-"

"That ain't how I remember it," Spot interrupted, barely able to hold back a cackle. "An' trust me, not only can I find my own doll when I need one, I sure as hell would neva pick no wall-eyed girl from Queens."

The newsies close enough by to hear him howled with laughter. Faye took this time to crawl behind Buckle's legs, crouched on all fours. Spot's eyes sparkled with mischief when he saw her.

"All right, all right," Spot said, waving his arms in a shushing motion to his newsies. "I'll tell ya what. How's about I do somethin' to show New York how much I got your back?"

The boy nodded, standing up straight. "I'd say it's about time, Spot."

Spot grinned. He lunged forward and pushed Buckle into Faye with all his might. The backs of his knees bent when they hit Faye's side, and he toppled over her helplessly. The fall was not clean, and the edge of his left boot yanked the hat off of Faye's head as he cried in shock, and fell below the view of the docks. An enormous splash erupted from the river, and Faye shrieked, grabbing her hat and diving out of the way of the water. If Faye had done anything to make the Brooklyn newsies warm up to her, this blew them all out of the park. The laughter was deafening. Some of the boys had even fallen onto the ground, slapping the wood of the dock with their hands. Faye stood up, her hand over her mouth. She was laughing so hard she thought she might start drooling. Spot chuckled, rubbing the top of her head affectionately.

"What a doll!" He yelled, pulling her into half of a hug.

Buckle pulled himself back up on the docks, coughing and spluttering. The laughter died out as he stalked towards Spot and Faye, his fists clenched at his sides. Though those were two people that could handle themselves better than anybody, all of Brooklyn was tense, and waiting. If Buckle took one swing now, it might be the last thing he did.

"I heard about you," Buckle hissed, glaring at Faye.

Faye was twisting her hair up in order to tuck it back into her hat. She tilted her head to the side as Buckle spoke, giving him her most winning smile. "Oh, yeah? That's funny, cuz I ain't heard a damn thing about you."

"Well," he retorted, wringing his hat out onto her shoes, "Maybe that's cuz I ain't neva been a whore."

Faye closed her eyes. She had certainly set herself up for that one, and although the Brooklyn newsies knew of her past before Buckle's childish words, it still stung. Somebody snarled viciously from behind them, and Faye jumped. Spot's right-hand man, Tip McMane, came tearing out of the crowd. Buckle's eyes barely had time to widen before Tip's large fist smashed right into his cheek. Spot pulled Faye away from the fray, and she stared open mouthed at the look of righteousness on Tip's face. She had no idea she'd made any impression on him whatsoever.

He was on one knee, holding Buckle by the collar of his shirt. "If ya talk about her," he growled, and Faye noticed his handsome jaw muscles flexing, "You're talkin' about all of us."

A few other boys had stepped up, and were standing behind Faye and Spot in a strange kind of semi-circle. Buckle looked just about as shocked as Faye felt.

"Wha- Tip- A _girl?_ You jus'- For a lousy _girl?_"

Buckle was quivering, and he lifted his hand to his cheek. There was a neat little gash that had not started trickling yet, but even Faye could see it seeping from ten feet away. His lip, too, was split, and a few buttons were missing from his shirt. Spot bent down, and picked up the bumbling newsie. Tip pushed himself up to stand beside him. For a long minute, Spot stared hard at Buckle, and the tension began to mount once more.

Finally, Spot leaned forward, nearly touching noses with him. "Get outta here," he growled.

Buckle looked around at them all, apparently waiting for someone to jump out and say "Gotcha!" but nobody did. He shook his head, and in a shamed silence, walked down the pier and disappeared from sight.

Faye was so embarrassed she didn't know where to look. What were they playing at, protecting her like that? Since when did Tip, or any of the boys besides Spot consider her "one of them?" She turned her head to look at them all. They were all still standing, army-like, staring after where Buckle had just been. None of them would even look at her. And then, a raucous laughter broke out along the docks, and Faye grinned with relief.

"What the hell was that?" She whispered to Spot.

He shrugged, looking around at his boys with pride. "I'll explain later."

Spot and Faye sat up on the roof of the Brooklyn Lodging House. After the full day they'd had, Spot decided it was a good night for alcohol. He had disappeared for an hour, and come back holding an enormous jar of moonshine. The two of them had been sitting there for hours now, sipping away, getting drunker by the second.

"You gonna tell me yet?" She hiccuped, wiping her mouth and passing the jar Spot's way.

"What? Oh," Spot scowled, and shrugged. "I dunno. They don' like that we'se such good friends, but for some reason they still like you," he smirked. "There. Ya happy?"

Faye raised her eyebrows. "That's the truth, huh?"

"Well..." Spot grinned, "It don' hurt that Tip finds ya foxy. But that sure ain't a reason he'd have for clockin' someone like that. Y'ain't his girl, an' he knows about Blink."

"You knew?" She gasped. "You know about- about-"

"Ssshh," Spot put his finger to his lips and leaned towards her, holding the jar out in her direction. "I know everythin', Faye," he whispered.

"Did ya send 'im word where I'm at?" She asked quietly. But she knew that he had not. If Blink had any idea where she was he would have already pounded down the door.

He rolled his eyes at her. "A question ain't a question if ya know the answer."

She smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme that," she said, and she snatched the moonshine out of his hands. She took another sip, and looked up at the moon. It was nearly towards the full end of its cycle. She could feel it in her stomach. Or was that the alcohol?

"Conlon," she said, pressing her lips together, "why didn' ya tell 'im?" He looked over at her. For a moment, his eyes softened, and it almost looked as if his hand had twitched... As if he wanted to reach out, and take hers. Then, the moment passed.

"Faye," he replied, "I don' care if ya really don' know the answer to that one. I ain't talkin'." He looked away, annoyed. He had not told Blink where Faye was because he was not ready for her to go. Since the night he found her on the bridge, it was like-it was like he hadn't had fresh air until she was around. He had not cared for a girl this much since... well. It had been a long, long time.

A staggering feeling began to rise in Faye's arms and chest, and she became completely consumed with abandon. She leaned forward, and kissed Spot hard on the lips. And for a moment, his hands found her face, and his thumb stroked her cheek, and he tasted her. Then, with a shared realization of what they were actually doing, they yelled and pushed each other away.

Faye began to laugh, and she looked over at Spot and smacked his arm. He glared at her.

"Sorry," she simpered, biting her lip. "For a second there ya actually looked cute."

He tried to keep his sour look on his face, and failed miserably. "Yeah, well," he said with a leer, taking another drink. "Don' worry, it'll come back." He winked at her in an obnoxious sort of way, and turned to face the stars. He placed the jar down between them.

Spot had been waiting for that moment for a while now. He knew the connection he and Faye had was electric. People could actually see that it existed even if they were across the room from one another. He himself had been wondering if friendship really was all he wanted, and he had been sure Faye was as well. And now, after those few seconds of a kiss, he knew he may never really know. He looked over at her. She was staring out at Brooklyn, poised like a lighthouse.

"Don' worry." He laid down on his back, stretching his arms out. "He's lookin' for you too."

Faye smiled. She had a feeling she was going to feel very, very bad about what had just happened in the morning. She joined Spot, and laid down on the roof. For now, she was going to let the moonshine do the worrying.

Faye and Spot slid in through the bunk room window, now both in a state of plain old clumsy drunken debauchery. Faye fell on her rear on her way inside, and began to laugh strangely through her nose.

"Spot," she giggled as he helped her up, "Where the hell'd ya get that stuff?"

"I can't tell ya," he said slyly, walking towards their bunk bed. "Issa secret."

Faye snorted. "Of course it is. Conlon's got secrets. Conlon makes the _rules._ Conlon says he'll explain, but Conlon ain't gonna! Conlon stays on _this_ side a' the bridge, but he knows _everything_... every-person-"

"Shut up, Faye." Spot pushed her face with his hand, and Faye struck back with the precision of a blind monkey.

It was still not lights-out in the bunk room. Most of the boys were downstairs playing cards, or sitting out on the stoop smoking. It was oddly bright and quiet in the room, and Faye began to realize just how drunk she was.

"Uh-oh," she groaned, sitting down on Spot's bed. "I think... Yeah. L'il too much. How much's left?"

Spot looked down at the jar in his hands. It had about two sips worth inside it. "Hmm," he said, scrutinizing the sight of it. "I'd say... 'bout enough to kill a pigeon."

Faye laughed, and then in a burst of chaos, the bunk room door slammed open. Her mouth dropped, and Spot flew to his feet. For a moment, he almost looked sober. Jack Kelly and Race were standing before them, looking sweaty and extremely pissed off.

"Sorry," said Race, his look of "conquer and kill" sliding off his face. "Kin'a had ta... Fight our way up here..."

As if to validate Race's words, Tip stuck his head in the door along with about five other Brooklyn boys.

"Spot?" Tip asked simply, nodding to Jack and Race.

"Ahh," Spot said nondescriptly, waving them off. "S'fine. Go on." They shut the door, and clambered back down the stairs.

Spot looked between Jack and Race, at first questioningly, and then a look of comprehension flashed in his eyes. "No, we ain't been makin' out on the roof, ya idiots," he rolled his eyes. "Jus' drinkin' some moonshine. Thassall." Faye felt a pang of guilt, and Race looked relieved. Jack, on the other hand, looked as if Christmas had just come early.

"Thasalllllll?" He repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Spot, are you drunk?" The obvious pleasure in his voice was rather funny to Faye, and she giggled from the corner of Spot's bed. When he threw her a look, she planted her hand over her mouth in a wasted attempt to put a plug on her laughter. Spot gave up, and sat back down on his bed by her feet.

"Don' push it Kelly, all right?" Spot warned him, stretching. "Ya jus' came bargin' in here like ya live here, suspeek- suspeckin'- Well. Ya know."

Jack shrugged. "Ya blame me?"

Spot looked down at the practically empty jar, then over to Faye. "I ain't sure yet." This time, he started to laugh, and Faye once again collapsed into hysterics. Race and Jack looked on, bewildered.

"Ya know," Race said quietly, looking at his two friends that were nearly blue in the face, "I don' think I ever seen him laugh before." Race stared. Spot never laughed-he would chuckle, chortle, snigger-sure. But laugh? Surely not. Yet there he was, his eyes slightly wide, as if he too were surprised by his own laughter; his chest was heaving with the intensity of a being letting piles of stress unfold, and roll away.

Race was quite jealous of the happiness Spot seemed to have given to Faye. But he couldn't help smiling. The two loneliest people he knew were giggling like children, their eyes aglow with buried innocence.

Jack headed back that night to alert Blink about what was going on, but Race stayed. He needed to talk with Faye before Blink showed up. Unfortunately, she and Spot were so drunk that mere minutes after Jack said goodbye, they were snoring on Spot's bed. Race sighed, snuffing out the cigarettes that were burning in both of their hands. Quite sure they would not remember there was such a little amount left, Race downed the few sips of moonshine at the bottom of the jar to help him sleep. He was extremely anxious, and he was not sure why... But he had a horrible feeling about the day to come.

Blink missed Faye more than he ever could have imagined missing anybody. He felt so bad about his behavior, he was nearly banging his head against the wall every day with remorse. He had hoped that she was missing him too, but based on what he had just heard from Jack, she was doing quite well. It was salt in an open wound. Here he had been moping and skulking, barely eating for the past twenty-nine days, and Faye was in Brooklyn becoming best friends with Spot Conlon, a person Blink never thought it was possible to be close with. How was it that Brooklyn always heard about the happenings of Manhattan, but Manhattan had to go snoop on its mysterious neighbor to find out even the smallest bits of information?

Of course, Blink would have wanted to head out that very night to talk to Faye, but by the time Jack had gotten there with the news it was already eleven hours into the evening. Kloppman was strict about curfew, but he was nothing compared to Smith, the Brooklyn Lodging House's head. There was no way he would be able to get in until the morning, and even then Faye would obviously be off to work all day with Spot. He sighed. It was going to be a long wait until tomorrow evening. His stomach was rumbling as if he had eaten something foul, and his mind was spinning horribly. Sleep was his very own desert mirage. He could feel his fatigue, and see his dreams waiting for him to come and lay under their tree, but he could not quite get there. So, he sat outside the window all night. When the sun rose, he stood purposefully, and climbed down the fire escape. He would wait all day on the steps of the Brooklyn Lodging House if he had to. He just wanted his girl back home.

A boy of seventeen walked steadily down a lonely road, his bright blue eyes reflecting in the overcast light of the sky. His dark brown hair, which was well kempt and curly, hung in locks over his forehead, forcing him to shake his head to the side every minute or so to regain his sight. He stopped at a street corner, mouthing the street name written on the sign above him silently, and turned right. The sight at the end of this new road made him stop in his tracks once again, before he nodded his head determinedly, and made his way towards the tall, twisted building, his breathing heavy. The sight of it sparked both fear and sick curiosity in his mind, and the latter kept his feet moving. He had not told anybody where he was going, nor what he planned to do. If this came back to him in any way, his life would be worth dirt. Buckle approached the gates, and a guard stepped out of the shadows to look him over warily.

"Whaddya want?" The guard asked gruffly.

"I... I'm here to... To visit an' ol' friend," Buckle said nervously.

The guard raised his eyebrows. "A friend, huh? Who you lucky enough ta call a friend in this dung hole?"

"Man called Mikie," he replied.

The guard stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh. "Mikie! That's a good one. Been here for 'bout a year an' a half, he has, an' ain't a soul come to see 'im. Murderer, he is. Ask me they shoulda jus' sent 'im to the gallows. Ain't no fixin' a sick mind once it's crossed over..." He stopped, now looking at Buckle with extreme curiosity. "What is it ya want?"

"I already told ya," Buckle said stubbornly. "He's a old friend."

"That so? Well, I'ma 'fraid I don' believe ya, kid. Get on now, an' keep outta trouble."

Buckle sighed. He had expected this. With a shaking hand, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a fresh ten dollar bill. It had taken him all day yesterday, but he'd finally found a wallet with proper funds for this excursion. The guard looked down at it. He seemed disgusted with himself as he closed his eyes, and nodded, accepting the money through the bars.

"Righ'," he said, opening the gate. It let out a ghostly creak as it swung to the side. Buckle shivered, and stepped through. The building before him looked as mad as the people inside were told to be. Really, it would have been appropriate if a constant thunder cloud were over it, flashing violent lightning at all hours of the day.

Though he had gotten past the guard, he was not sure how successful he would be with the doctors and staff inside. He pressed forward, determined to look as honest as possible. He walked up the steps at the front of the building, and knocked on the large wooden door. A rectangle of wood just at his eye level slid open, and a pair of withered blue eyes met his own.

"What do you want?" Came the voice of an old man.

"I'm here to see someone," Buckle said, his words shaky. The eyes before him were strange. He wondered if you could not help but go slightly mad after working within the asylum for so many years.

"Who?"

"Mikie?" He said again, his voice getting so high it came out as a question.

The cold blue eyes looking at him widened. "Whaddya want him for?"

"I... I jus wanna talk to 'im," Buckle said, still nervous but beginning to grow annoyed. How many more people would he have to battle this out with? To his surprise, the old man began to laugh. It was a laugh unlike anything he had ever heard... Tortured, twisted, and lonely; much like the building itself.

"Look no further, m'boy," the old man whispered. "What business do ya have with a killer like me?"

The door swung open, and Buckle nearly choked in horror. The sight before him was disgusting. Six bodies were behind him, laying face down on the floor, which was soaked in a color of deep, brick red. It looked like a battlefield. He could hear other patients crying out from their cells. Some of them he could even see, and they were screaming so profusely he could not understand a word they were saying. Still, he got the message. Their arms were reaching out towards nothing, begging for freedom, or maybe begging for someone to get this killer out of their midst... Buckle looked up in shock. All those dead bodies... Had he killed them all? He stared into the face before him, now filled with terrified regret. The old man was looking at him expectantly, as if the people behind him were scenery in his home, like furniture.

"Spit it out, boy," he said through his teeth, which were an unpleasant, fuzzy orange. "I'm a very busy man, as you can see."

Buckle found he could not speak. He reached into his pocket, removing a picture from it. A beautiful girl with thick, long, black hair and pale skin looked back at him from the photograph. The edges were darker than the center, which had been exposed to sunlight through the glass of a photo frame. He handed it to Mikie.

Mikie extended his long, wrinkled hands, and took the picture. Buckle shuddered when a pointy yellow nail brushed his palm. Mikie didn't notice. He was enraptured by the photo, and a soft croon escaped his lips. He seemed to be caressing the image with one of his fingers.

"Jane," he whispered. There were tears in his eyes. "Where did you get this?" He asked.

Buckle shook his head. "Not Jane," he said, ape-like. "Faye."

Mikie closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose heavily. Buckle found this rather disgusting, as the thick scent of urine and feces had wafted to his senses as soon as the door opened... not to mention the penny smell of the blood ... He wondered how long the bodies had been lying there. Was this what Faye had found when Mikie killed her sister?

"Faye," Mikie said, smiling affectionately. "All grown up. She looks so... different."

"Yeah," said Buckle, shaking his head of his thoughts. "Yeah, she's... She's doin'..." He felt very much like he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything he had thought, or felt, before this moment. His hurt pride from the events of Brooklyn the previous day seemed small, and silly. He took a step back from the door.

"Well," he said lamely, "Jus... Wanted you ta have that... Yeah, that's all... I... I thought..." He stopped talking. Mikie was looking at him in a very strange way. His head was tilted, and he looked rather like a kitten about to pounce.

"She made you angry, did she boy?" Mikie hissed, stepping slightly out of the door. "Thought you would come here an' get me to... Do sumthin' for ya?"

"No," Buckle replied quietly. Indeed, Buckle was sure now that murder by proxy had never been his plan. Why had he come here? "No... I..."

"I think you did," said Mikie. "You thought I'd always been mad... Some silly urchin you could use to do your dirty work. You ain't seen death before, have ya?" He asked wickedly. "Scare you, do I?"

"I... I..." Buckle took another step backward. Where was that guard? He did not dare turn around to look. He had never met anyone with murder in their eyes before. He was so terrified now he could barely see... He wanted nothing more than to be rid of this place, and this man he had so purposely sought. But for what? Why couldn't he remember? _Get outta here, get out!_ A small voice cried in his head.

"I'm going to explain sumthin to ya," Mikie said, smiling again. "I loved Jane. Very much," he added, taking a creepy glance at Faye's picture. "That night... That night..." His voice was quivering with pain. "OH, I KILLED HER!" He screamed. His transition from calm speech to utter madness was nearly as horrifying as the bloody scene behind him. "I didn't mean to! The devil's drink, the devil's drink! She told me no, an' I killed her!"

Buckle gasped. Mikie was writhing before him like a dying cockroach, his limbs flailing, snot and tears covering his face.

"HEY! What's goin' on over there?" The guard came running, wheezing, his round belly wiggling about. "Kid! Get away from there, now! That's him! That's HIM!"

Mikie snarled. Buckle barely saw the flash of silver before he felt the blade deep in his stomach. He choked, coughing, tasting the iron in his mouth.

"Away from 'im, ya monster!" The guard screamed. "Doctor! Doctor! He's loose, he's- Good Lord... What have ya done... Ya've gone an' killed 'em all, ya demon! You rot in hell! You rot in _hell!"_

Buckle fell to the ground, the pain so great he could not see. He heard the guard give a horrible yell, and then his body fell to the ground beside him.

Faye's face was before him, laughing with Spot, her long black hair shining behind her. His heart filled with remorse. He longed to protect her, to stop Mikie, but he could not move. He was dying.

"I'm... sorry... don't..." Buckle choked to the vision before him.

Mikie's feet stepped over him, headed towards the gates. He was free.

Blink sat on the steps to the Brooklyn Lodging House, watching all the newsies head off to work. He had made it there before the wake up call, and was waiting for Faye. Hopefully she would not tear away at the sight of him. He was very disappointed when she did not come. He waited a good ten minutes after the last newsie came out, but there was no sign of her, or Spot, or Race. Where could they be? He stood up tentatively. He did not want to barge in on her and make her more angry... He sat back down. He would give it just a little longer.

"Faye, can I talk to ya?"

Race had stuck his head out the window to the fire escape, where Faye was nursing the worst headache of her life. She looked over to him, and nodded.

"Jus' don' get all mushy on me, all right?" Faye asked grumpily, massaging her temples.

Race grinned. "'Course not. Look... I'm sorry I brought it all up. I didn' know... if I'd known-"

"Race, it's all right," Faye said, surprisingly kind. "If you had known, ya wouldn' a' had nuthin' ta ask about."

"Well thanks Brooks, but if I hadn' tol' Blink you guys never woulda had that fight an'-"

"Oh, please," She cut him off again with a wave of her hand. "That woulda come up someday Race, an' you know it. Ya did me a favor. Okay? S'all right." Though unexpected, Faye's words were truthful. She had missed Race very much. She sighed, and lit a cigarette, knowing it would make her hangover worse but not really caring. "He's on his way, ain't he?"

Race nodded. "I think that'd be safe ta assume. I'm surprised he ain't here already. Jack went back last night to tell him you was here."

"Did ya really think me an' Spot were goin' together?" Faye asked.

Race blushed slightly, and smiled. "I guess I jus' didn' know what the hell was goin' on, honestly."

Faye squinted in his direction, and nodded. "Good answer."

Blink climbed up the steps, trying to quiet the creaks in the stairs. He wasn't completely sure why he was trying to be so quiet, but his nerves were hopping inside his stomach, and concentrating on sound was slightly calming. Once at the top of the steps he heard the familiar voices he was hoping for, and he could not help but swing the door open with a bit of gusto. It seemed like years since he had heard Faye speak.

"Well there y'are," Came Spot's voice. "Bout damn time, ya bum."

Blink swung his head around, and only when his eyes stopped on the lump of what had at first seemed to be sheets on Spot's bed did he find Spot. Though completely covered in his sheets, one of Spot's eyes was peeking out from beneath them.

"Hey, Spot," Blink said nervously, rocking back on his heels. "I thought I heard... Well, nevermind-"

"She's out there," was Spot's reply, his arm quickly escaping the covers to point vaguely in the direction of the window leading to the fire escape. "Wid Race. She's been waitin' for ya."

Spot pulled the covers back over his head completely, his mood sour. It was not just his hangover that made him feel rotten. Faye was leaving today, and he knew it. He would never let on to anyone how much this disappointed him, and he was grateful for his excuse to lay in bed with his self-inflicted flu. She had quickly become his best friend. He knew she felt the same way, but even so, once she went back to Manhattan it would never be the same again.

Blink bit his lip and headed towards the window. When he stuck his head out, Race was leaning against the railing, and Faye was sitting with her back against the wall. She looked miserable.

"Hey," he said lamely, his voice cracking a bit.

Both Faye and Race jumped, but Faye smiled when she saw him.

"Blink," she said quietly. She stood, and climbed in through the window without a word to Race. "I was hopin you'd come."

Blink sighed with relief. The animal he'd seen in her eyes that horrible night had faded. She was Faye again- the girl he loved, and come to find, and that he hoped loved him too.

"Go for a walk with me?" He asked.

Faye and Blink had taken a strange path into Brooklyn to get some privacy. Though it was a long walk, they had wandered back to their old neighborhood. This was especially painful for both of them in very different ways. Blink had not stepped foot in the area since the fateful day his parents burned to death, along with Faye's mother and father. And as for Faye, it was just all too familiar. It seemed like a lifetime ago she had packed up her things and headed blindly towards Manhattan- Yet as soon as she felt the dirt road beneath her boots, it was like yesterday. The walk to this destination had been silent. They had not even audibly agreed to go there, they kind of just headed that way without thinking. Perhaps because it was the first time they'd been in Brooklyn together in eight and a half years. Neither knew the answer, but it was strangely comforting, while they also felt as if a ghost was just behind them, breathing down their necks.

When they reached the abandoned docks on which they played endless games during their childhood summers, they sat down, their legs dangling towards the water. Faye's toes scraped the surface of the river, and for a moment, she smiled.

"Faye," Blink began softly, taking her hand, "I'm real sorry. You b'lieve me don't ya?"

Faye nodded. "I'm sorry too," she whispered. "I never shoulda talked to ya like that, I jus'... I couldn' help it."

"Nah, I deserved it, I was actin' like a jerk," he argued.

"Yeah well I shoulda jus' told ya the truth," Faye spat back.

They looked at each other, and laughed weakly. Blink kissed her cheek.

"I love ya," he whispered, his mouth pressed to her ear.

Faye's eyes widened in shock, then began to fill with tears that irritated her as much as his words touched her. "Oh, Blink," she said, smiling genuinely, "I love you too."

He grinned. Without any further preamble, he crawled forward and tackled her. The kisses he planted on her were passionate, and so blissful Faye nearly forgot where she was. The universe, however, was more than willing to remind her. A loud clapping made her flinch, and the two of them broke apart in surprise, looking up to find the source of the noise.

Faye felt the lining of her skin turn to ice, and wondered how her heart could possibly still have a beat. A mere twenty feet away from her, a knife clasped in his teeth like a rose, was her one and only identifiable fear: Mikie. Blink gasped beside her and scrambled to his feet, immediately standing in front of her like a shield.

"Get on outta here," Blink said, his voice surprisingly deep and intimidating. "Leave us alone!"

Mikie wheezed out a strange laughter, slowly taking the blade from his mouth. "I ain't a dog you can shoo away," He hissed.

A new anger swept through Faye like a desert breeze. She stood, pushing Blink out of the way forcefully. She walked closer to Mikie, her fists clenched just as Buckle's had been the day before on the docks that seemed so very far from where she was.

"Whatcha want?" She demanded. "Ya want my heart? Like ya wanted hers? Don' wast your time. It's gone!" Her entire body was trembling. She wanted nothing more than to strangle every last breath out of him, and watch the light leave his eyes. Her fingers were twitching to press on his throat, her fists longing to punch every inch of him she could get a hold of. She never thought she would see his face again. She had dreamed of this moment many times; What would she do to the man that killed her sister? What would she say to the man that squelched the last bit of light at the end of her tunnel?

How would she kill the man that took away the most beautiful girl Faye had ever known from this dark, lonely earth?

"I'm sorry," Mikie whispered, and though his eyes did truly seem remorseful, the twitching of his lips spoke of other ideas and emotions. "I never meant to hurt her. I loved her."

Blink was not sure what to do. He did not want Faye to talk to him. He did not want Mikie to even be able to look at her, but he knew this was something he had to let her do if he ever wanted her to move on. Still, they had no weapon. And though he could hold his own and Faye was as scrappy as they came, he sensed a madness in Mikie that could not be matched by any amount of skill or muscle. He felt doomed, his back to nothing but water, staring at a crazed killer holding the weapon he undoubtedly planned to kill them both with.

"Never meant ta hurt her?" Faye whispered back, her voice cold, and enraged. "Ya cut my sister ear ta ear... An' ya got the nerve ta tell me... Ya love her?"

"I didn' come here to talk about Jane, " Mikie said suddenly, waving away the present conversation like a pesky fly. "I came ta talk about you. You've grown, Faye. You've changed."

"Takin' a fancy to me?" Faye gritted her teeth. "Now that I look zactly like her, ya want me? How'd ya get out? Huh?"

"Ah, Faye," Mikie said calmly, taking his first step forward. "Love can't be bound by walls, no matter how strong the bars or how thick the stone."

Faye sneered in disgust. "Y'ain't thought 'bout nothin' but yourself long enough to know nothin' bout love. Now, come on," she said, her voice rising. "Try an' kill me. TRY!"

Mikie looked down at his knife questioningly. "Ya think this's for you?" He asked. Something in his tone suggested that Faye was in fact the mad one, and he was peering over from the other side of the fence. "It's for _him._" Faye felt Blink tense up behind her, and only then did it occur to her what he meant. Her heart began to beat fast again, so fast she was not sure if she could speak.

"If you touch him," She said, and she heard her voice cracking, "I'll kill you."

Mikie's nostrils curved upward into a silent snarl, and he began to prowl the edge of the docks, his feet still staying on the grass, glaring and smiling like a hyena. Now Faye stood before Blink, her arms outstretched, determined to keep at least herself between Mikie and the man she loved. She would not let him take another person from her. It was unthinkable. No, no, no.

Blink was breathing fast now. She was pinned by his love. She wanted to hold him, and tell him she would not let any harm come to him; she could not turn around to tell him these things, in case he tried to be a hero.

Mikie lunged forward. Faye stood, solid as a rock, as the knife flew toward them in his withered, angry hand.

"No!" Blink cried, and his arm came flying over her shoulder and knocked the blade from the killer's hands. Blood was everywhere. Blink's hand was badly cut, and he grasped at it in pain, his face turning slightly green. "Run, Faye!"

Though Blink's efforts had been admirable, they accomplished very little. Mikie dived to the ground for the knife just as Faye did, and suddenly they were wrestling on the docks like fighting dogs, using every part of their bodies as weapons. Blink jumped forward to push him off her, but Mikie grabbed him by the head, slamming him to the floor with all his might. Blink saw a flash of white, and then nothing.

"No!" Faye shrieked. She doubled her efforts. She bit, she scratched, she kicked, and she howled like a wolf. She gritted her teeth as splinter after splinter found her bare skin. She clapped her hands over his ears, and when he cried out, she decked him twice, though she was beneath him. But Mikie was unbeatable. His hands were about her throat. She landed a few more satisfying blows to his face, and one or two to his ribs; but slowly, she began to realize she just could not breathe. He was strangling her. He really was a lunatic, and he was going to kill her, just like he did Jane. She was going to die the same lonely, gruesome death, and be responsible for Blink being killed in her passing. But suddenly, Mikie's grip loosened. Faye gasped in the warm summer air, coughing like a maniac. She scrambled to her feet just in time to see Spot's hand close around Mikie's knife, and plunge it into the old man's belly.

Faye watched, fascinated, as Mikie's eyes bulged first in disbelief, then in shock, and finally, pain. His eyes shifted from the strange nothing he had been looking at, over to Faye. For a moment that same, horrible animal flickered in his eyes, but then it faded again. Spot twisted the blade for good measure, and then pulled it out of Mikie's stomach with a grunt. Mikie fell face first onto the dock. Faye felt the wood shake. She closed her eyes for a small moment.

Spot turned around to look at Faye, his face pale and tear-streaked. He did not seem to be aware of his tears, which had already stopped, though they still hung on his face. Without a word he threw the knife into the river, and bent down to check on Blink, who was knocked out but breathing steadily. When it was clear he was all right, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Faye, staring at Mikie's body. A sphere of scarlet blood was slowly growing beneath him, staining the docks and dripping down to the water below.

Very suddenly, Faye burst into tears. _She_ was supposed to do it. Since the day Jane died, she had promised herself that if she ever saw Mikie again, she would kill him, torture him, make him beg for death. And she had failed. She had failed Jane for a second, and final, time. Spot turned to her, and for the first time, pulled her into his arms completely.

"You as good as got 'im, Faye."

Faye clung to him. She felt now, even through the anguish, that whatever she may or may not feel for him, she had absolutely found family the night Spot found her. She was so grateful for him, and so sorry that he had killed for her.

"'M sorry," she said, her voice full of phlegm and tears. "I'm sorry, Conlon..."

Spot shook his head, squeezing her tighter. "Don't be."


	3. Chapter 3

**PART III: GLOW**

She was creeping silently through her old home like a cat. She was an assassin, a panther; skilled, quiet, and smooth. He was here, and she was going to kill him this time. Fate had given her another chance. He had not died on that pier... Spot had been wrong in believing him dead, and rolling his body into the water. He had awoken, he had escaped the fish, like she knew he would. Only _she_ could finish him.

She turned the corner into her old bedroom. Her bed was there, innocent, quiet, and still. The floor boards once soaked by Jane's exsanguination seemed to vibrate, and glow... Faye tightened her grip on the small revolver in her hand... she only had one bullet.

He was hiding under the bed; she knew it. He thought she was going to lay down, and go to sleep, and wait for his hands to creep up from beneath. Well, he had it wrong. She was the one waiting for him this time, and she would not fail in her mission. She inhaled silently, and her breath puffed about her like smoke.

Slowly, he emerged, his arms sliding on the floor like snakes. His pallor was of death-even his eyes seemed to fade into the back of his head. Was he dead? No. No, she wouldn't let him fool her. He was moving, and very much alive.

He stood, his body weaving to and fro like a stringed puppet. He wheezed, and coughed, and began to turn his head slowly. In a flicker of green, the face looking at her was now one of a praying mantis; it hissed at her, tilting its head ever just so. Faye gave a yell in her fear, and fired the bullet into his chest. A small hole appeared, but no blood... and he was not hurt... The head of the green insect had been replaced by his own again, and he was smiling. His hands outstretched, he walked towards her quickly now, calling to her. She felt his cold, clammy claws clutch her throat. What was death, and would he be there on the other side? Would Janie be there?

_Oh, Janie..._

_Faye... help me... Quick, he's here... He's gonna kill me! Oh God!... Faye, is that you? Faye?... _

Faye sat up in her bed with a dreadful gasp, coughing hard enough to pop her own lungs. She grasped the sides of her bed, and vaguely heard the sound of her sheets ripping under the force of her pull.

A cool hand touched her shoulder. The physical contact hooked her navel, pulling her back completely into the conscious world. She looked to her side, and Spot's face was close and clear despite the darkness.

"He ain't gonna bother ya no more," he said firmly, removing his hand from her arm but staring deep into her eyes all the same. "He's gone."

Faye nodded, doing her best to steady her breathing. "Where's Blink?"

"Still asleep," he replied, nodding over towards the occupied bed across the room. Faye looked up and around, only now remembering she was not in the main bunkroom, but a small room on the third floor with an unidentified purpose, which housed three bunks.

"He okay?" She asked.

"From what Smith can tell, yeah. I'm sure he'll be fine in the mornin'."

He had not thought it was possible, but after seeing Faye fight tooth and nail like she had that day, he had even more respect for her. Most people, not even just girls, would not have been able to face a fear so real, and so painful. He had also never been so grateful he was a nosy, spying bastard.

The fact that he had killed a man was marvelously undaunting. Though it had overwhelmed him in the moment, thinking back on it was not hard. The choice had been clear: kill Mikie, or lose Faye, not to mention Blink. That thought was unbearable, and justified the killing he had committed so completely that he knew he would not lose much sleep over it. Still, all the violence, and emotional rumblings, had left Spot confused, and feeling extremely vulnerable.

Faye, now sealed safely back into the real world, noticed Spot's strange expressions as he gazed at her. "What?" She said suddenly, furrowing her brow.

"What, what?" Spot grunted.

She smirked, and shook her head. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"My pop."

Faye raised her eyebrows in surprise. She was dying to know more about Spot, but he just wasn't the type of person you could ask, just like she wasn't.

"Never told ya 'bout my pop, huh?"

"You know full well ya haven't."

He nodded. "Well," He paused, and gazed around the room as if looking for purpose. He stood, and grabbed a large bowl sitting across the room. A rag was inside it, and something metal flashed in the moonlight as Spot sat down in front of the bed. He removed the rag from the bowl, and handed it to Faye to hold. Without asking permission, he grabbed Faye's ankles, and pushed her feet into the water. The metal object turned out to be tweezers. Faye sucked in a large breath and held it tight, and Spot began to remove the jagged pieces of wood from her feet and ankles. Drops of blood followed the larger splinters, and Faye waited patiently for Spot to speak again, watching the blood swirl around in the bowl.

"He was a piece of shit," Spot finally continued. He looked up at Faye. After a quick moment of eye contact, he continued with the splinters. "Beat my mama, and forced her to... do things. In front a' me, in front a' Laura."

"Laura?" Faye repeated, bewildered. She winced as he placed her left foot into the water. It stung like hell. He lifted her right foot out, and immediately found a large piece of wood stuck in her heel.

"My baby sister," he muttered.

"You have a-"

"She's dead."

Faye shook her head slightly, looking down at the bloody bowl again. She knew there was nothing nice she could say. "What happened?"

Spot shrugged. "Old man killed mama one night, stupid with whiskey. Ran off like a coward, somehow ended up in the river. They found him with his eyes eaten out by the fish." Spot paused to show a look of slight satisfaction. "So, Laura an' me, we got shoved into a orphanage. After a couple years I managed ta break us out; that's when I started this racket," he said. He smiled, and held up his hands, which were ink-stained, maybe forever.

"Things were good for a while. We found places to stay the more I met older kids like us. Then, one day I left Laura alone at a squat to take care of some business. She was nappin'. She woke up, found me gone, and stepped outside just in time to get trampled by a runaway carriage."

Faye gasped. "Jesus," she whispered. "I'm so sorry-"

Spot shook his head. "Don't do that," he looked up at her. "Please."

She nodded, and let the silence rise between them. It hummed. Spot moved his hand up her leg gently. She couldn't tell if he was petting her, or checking for splinters anymore.

"Spot?" She said questioningly.

Immediately, Spot removed his hand. He snatched the rag, which was still quite damp, from Faye's hands. One foot at a time, he wiped the watery blood from her skin.

She was very aware of her body now. Her chest was rising and falling dramatically, though she couldn't seem to change this. Her arms twitched, aching to move, to do something.

She lay down on her stomach, facing Spot on the floor, and reached out her hand. He surprised them both by scooting forward, and holding it.

"Faye," he whispered, and he stared at their locked hands with a wrinkled expression. After a moment of questioning himself, he squeezed her hand tightly, and looked up to face her. "I'm gonna miss ya."

Faye smiled. She flipped his hand over so it was palm up, and kissed it.

"Me too," she whispered, without raising her head. When she looked at him, she knew he had heard her.

And suddenly, she was completely exhausted again. She lay across the bed long-ways, resting her head on the pillow, which accepted her weight beautifully. Without a word, Spot pushed the bowl and tweezers out of the way to sit with his back against the bed; his neck was just by her elbow. He leaned back for a moment and met Faye's eye.

"See ya in the morning, Green Eyes," he mumbled, and he yawned violently. Faye ruffled his hair lazily, and within moments, she was dead to the world.

Across the room, Blink slept soundly, breathed steadily, and dreamed hopefully.

When Faye awoke, both boys were sound asleep. Light was just beginning to peak through the windows, and for the first time, Faye got a good look around the dusty room. She was lying on one of three bunk beds, which were bare, aside from the blankets Smith had surrendered to them the day before. Each bunk was against a plain, unpainted wall. Blink's bunk was against the middle wall, opposite the door, and behind it was a large window leading out to the fire escape.

Spot was still leaning against her bed, his mouth wide open, his neck straining under the weight of his head. Faye inched toward the bottom of her mattress, letting out an involuntary whimper. Her entire body was aching. With much struggle, she slid off the bed and onto the floor. She crawled back to the head of her bed, grabbed the pillow, and after placing it on the floor as well, she eased Spot down, and rested his head on the feathers. He took a deep breath, but slept on.

Faye had no idea how bad her injuries were, but she had a feeling she looked like hell. She cracked the door to the room and peeked into the hallway, straining her ears to listen for any newsboys that could be straggling inside the building. There was nothing. It was then she remembered she was on the third floor; there should be no one up here with her besides Blink and Spot. She tiptoed across the hallway and slipped into the small washroom.

"Oh."

Faye winced at her own reflection, then leaned in further towards the mirror to get a better look. Her left eye was black, and puffy, and the eyeball itself was red-apparently, she had popped a vessel. Her bottom lip was split in the very middle, and dried blood that Spot and Smith had missed was crusted to her chin. Her jaw was scratched; her right cheek was puffed out like a plum; and around her neck were the distinct, blue imprints of Mikie's fingers.

Not without some painful trouble, Faye removed her shirt. Her arms were covered in splinters-how she had not felt them, she could not understand. A small amount of dread crept into her belly as she thought of someone plucking them from her skin later; but that was silly. It had to be done. With a sigh, Faye peeled off the rest of her clothes. Underneath were more bruises and cuts, and of course more splinters, but nothing as bad as what she had discovered on her face. She filled a washtub, grabbed a bar of soap, and gritted her teeth, stepping into the water. The burning was almost unbearable, but she grunted, and began to scrub.

The news of Buckle's brutal murder traveled fast, along with many questions. What had he been doing visiting a Brooklyn asylum? Who had killed him? The mass murder had been mentioned in the paper, but its true nature had been replaced with a dramatic cover-up. Only Faye, Spot, and Blink could guess why Buckle was dead. Spot had come to visit a few days after the news really began to spread, and spent the day in Manhattan to make sure Faye was alright, but then he left. Faye had not spoken about it since. And what was the point? She could speculate forever. Would she be happier if Mikie were still alive, and she had a chance to avenge her sister? No, probably not. After all, Mikie was never supposed to be released. She never would have broken into an asylum to stab a mad man to death, no matter what he had done to her. What had Buckle wanted from him? She would never know. Obviously, he was the one that Mikie had gotten her picture from, and a quick search of her bag a few days after the attack had confirmed her fears. Along with the few family photos Faye had managed to save was an empty frame, which had been tossed back into her bag with such carelessness, it had cracked. But why, _why?_ Of course, with both Mikie and Buckle gone forever, there was very little point in wondering. She would never know.

She missed Brooklyn. Blink was wonderful; Race and Jack had allowed her right back into their lives, as did the rest of the Manhattan boys. But there was something different about Brooklyn-something huskier, mustier, and harder-that made Faye's chest puff out, and her head stand tall. And of course, she missed Spot. She had thought long and hard about their short kiss, their oneness in mind... but there were no answers waiting in those thoughts. Faye knew she was not an expert on love, but she did believe, with all her heart, that it was almost impossible to only love one person. Perhaps she loved parts of them both, or all of them both... but she would be faithful. She was happy with Blink.

"Fifty papes, please," Faye mumbled, sliding her change onto the counter. The young man in the window nodded, and slammed them down for her to gather.

"Faye, c'mere!"

Faye put on a smile, and turned to meet Blink. He was standing with Race and Jack.

"Whaddaya say we all hump it this mornin', an' take the day off in the afternoon? Spend the day in the park?" Blink looked hopeful. Faye shrugged, trying to look interested.

"Yeah, maybe," she said cheerfully. Blink looked at her shrewdly, but let it go.

"Wanna sell with me today?"

"Well I just wanted to..."

"Sure, yeah," said Blink, and he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Maybe I'll see ya for lunch." Faye sighed, watching him go. She could tell he was doing his very best to not seem upset.

"See ya, Brooky," Jack winked at her.

"See ya, Cowboy." She grinned, and looked at Race.

"Y'alright, Brooks?" He asked.

"Yeah, I just need some time alone today," she replied. She felt guilty for rejecting their invitations, but everyone needed a day to themselves sometimes. Today was just one of those days for her.

"Okay. Maybe I'll see ya later?" Race waved as he headed down the sidewalk, and Faye took a deep breath, taking in the hot sunlight and hard, warm breeze. She didn't even want to sell. She wanted to walk, and think. She glanced around, and saw that Skittery was still in line behind a few guys she didn't know.

"Skits, do me a favor?" She dropped the pile of papers into his arms. "Take those offa me?"

"What, fifty? Alright." He dug into his pockets and pulled out some coins, tossing them her way. "Thanks, Brooklyn," he said lightly, and he scratched the top of her hat affectionately before heading down the street.

"No problem." Faye walked straight into the crowds, immediately becoming one of the anonymous, pulled downtown by the flow of noise and traffic. Since she knew Blink, Race, and Jack would be there later, she headed to Central Park. She wanted to have it to herself. She knew it would be crowded, beautiful day as it was, but as long as she was left alone, she didn't care. She checked to make sure her hair was tucked safely into her cabby hat, and was on her way.

It was funny to think that back in Brooklyn, she hated being alone. In fact, solitude had tortured her into running away from home. Although, under the circumstances, she didn't know anyone that would have stayed if they had the choice. Faye did not know if she believed in ghosts, spirits, hauntings... but something had hung over her in that old shack; and it had been very real. Her nightmares had not stopped after she left, but they were less frequent. And she had to admit she was proud of herself for leaving. Really, what if she had stayed? Buckle would be alive, yes, but so would Mikie. And she would not know any of the Manhattan boys, would not have reunited with Blink, or met Spot. She would have lived alone, died alone, and been forgotten... Janie would have been forgotten. Well, James would remember-and Abe, maybe Mae. They would always remember.

Maybe Central Park wasn't where she wanted to go... maybe she should just go visit Brooklyn? Just for the day, she wouldn't-couldn't spend the night, for fear of worrying Blink or anybody else. But just a visit surely would do no harm. She stopped in her tracks, turned around, and cut across to 2nd Avenue, walking all the way through to East River Park. She hated how close Brooklyn seemed from across the water. She had to walk further south, and then slightly west, to set foot on the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a terrible tease. But the view was beautiful, and it was so early, it still seemed like the day would last forever.

Faye decided to sit and have a smoke before she left the park. She found an obliging tree with a fat, low sitting branch. When a particularly delicious breeze passed through the leaves, she threw caution to the winds, and removed her hat. The breeze picked up, lifting her thick hair completely off her back for one cool, glorious moment. She sighed with relish, and pulled out her papers and her pouch of tobacco. She was just placing the final twists on it when, from below, someone called to her.

"Is it really you?"

She jumped, and lost the grip on her cigarette. She scowled, then looked around to find the speaker. With a gasp, and without any regard for her ankles, she leaped down from the tree.

"James! Whatcha doin' here? I swear, I was just on my way to see you!" James's smile was, as always, broad and genuine. He embraced Faye, and held her head in his hands to kiss her on the cheek.

"Boy, have I missed you, doll. Were ya really comin' ta see me?"

"On my life," she replied, holding her right hand in the air. "Woke up thinkin' of ya. What are ya doin' here?"

James bit his lip, shrugged, and then bent down to pick up Faye's dropped cigarette.

"Heard some weird news," he said, lighting the cigarette for himself. He sat down on the grass, motioning for Faye to do the same. "Have you?"

"If you're talkin' about Mikie, then yeah. I uh... heard about that."

James passed the cigarette over to her.

"No one really knows what happened. He disappeared from the asylum, left some kid dead in the grass... the guard too, and maybe some a' the others from inside. I dunno, the papes was real wish-wash about the story. I wish I had more information for ya."

"No," Faye shook her head. "I got all the information I need on that."

James became very still. He turned to look at her, adjusting his spectacles. "Did you kill him?"

Faye shook her head. "No, I didn' kill nobody." To her chagrin, she was crying. James knew how badly she had always wanted to get Mikie. Having him nearby seemed to make it real-her failure to kill Mikie was inescapable.

"But someone did?"

"Yeah." Faye wiped her eyes, and looked at James. Just looking into his eyes was enough to cause bitter nostalgia. She trusted him more than anyone left in the world. But she did not want to burden him with this knowledge. She didn't know what to tell him. To her surprise, and pleasure, James pulled a small flask out of his coat pocket.

"Corn whiskey," he said, and grinned like a school boy. Faye took it gratefully, and swallowed down a huge gulp. She grimaced as the burn rose from her chest and into her throat, and she smacked her lips with the distinct after-taste. Then she shook her head, and handed it back to James, who also had a large first serving.

"Ol' Mikie's dead, James," Faye muttered, pulling a handful of grass up by its roots. "That's all that matters." And indeed, perhaps it was.

"Wait, wait, WAIT! Gimme a second..." James fumbled with his shoe, finally grabbing hold of his laces, and pulling it off of his foot. He threw it under a tree, next to their clothing. "Alright... ready?"

Faye nodded, crouching like a lion in her underwear, ready to pounce.

"And! One... two... th- HEY!"

Faye whooped loudly with her head-start, and dug into the grass with her toes, running as fast as she could. James was close behind her; she could hear his feet pounding and his lungs heaving. She laughed again, and put on a burst of speed. For a moment, the ground was gone from her feet, and she closed her eyes, raising her arms over her head.

SWOOSH.

Faye opened her eyes. It was dark, and murky in the East River. Just to her right, bubbles exploded everywhere as James's body entered the water, feet first. She smiled, and pushed herself to the surface.

"You'll never beat me!" She cried. He splashed her, laughing.

"You're right. Cuz you always cheat."

"That's sore loser talk," Faye grinned, and she swam around him in a circle. "Don't be a sore loser, James. It just don't fit you right."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed, and let his body rise so he was floating on his back. "When's the last time we went swimmin'? I feel like it's been years."

"It prob'ly has," Faye said quietly, and she did as he did, floating effortlessly at the top of the river. She was trying not to think of Mikie, who's body was, as far as she knew, still undiscovered. Perhaps his body had risen to the surface with bloat, and gone downstream. Or maybe he was underneath her somewhere, his hair rising eerily from his head in the current... she wondered if, like Spot's father, he had lost his eyeballs to the fish. She was sure he had. She pictured the old man's face, open eye sockets and all, and she immediately began swimming for shore. She knew James was just beside her, but she suddenly felt as if the boogie man was chasing her, snatching for her heels.

"Faye, what- where are you going? What's wrong?"

The icky feeling surrounded her completely, and Faye squealed, kicking and swinging her arms as fast as she could. She grabbed for the empty bakery dock, and swung herself up so quickly, she scraped the entire length of her right thigh.

"Shit!" she hissed, and she plopped down on her hear, smacking her stinging leg with her palm. James was out of the water in seconds, and he stared down at Faye in bewilderment before going to fetch her clothes. Faye was panting as if she'd swum a mile, and when Miles returned, pants on, clothes in hand, she looked up at him desperately.

"Any whiskey left?"

He handed the flask to her wordlessly, and Faye took a shot, and then breathed a bit more evenly. Her hands a bit less shaky, she motioned for James to sit. He did.

"Mikie's in there," Faye grunted, nodding towards the river. She gave James a moment to take that bit of information in, and then passed the flask back. He snatched it, and chugged down all that was left.

"Jesus," He said, wiping his mouth with his arm. "Jesus, Mary n' Joseph." He snapped his head around to look at her. "Can you tell me?"

Faye shrugged, pulling her shirt over her head. "I can tell ya how. Ya don't wanna know who... or I don't feel like explainin' who, longways. Mikie broke out, tried to kill me. A... friend stabbed him. He saved my life." James pushed himself up from the dock, throwing his undershirt over his head.

"Well," he said, offering a hand to Faye. She accepted, and pulled herself up. "Tell him thanks for me."

Faye smiled. She pulled her pants on, picked up her shoes, and held out her hand. He took it, and they began to walk.

"Wanna stay in town tonight?" Faye asked hopefully. "Got plenty a' room for ya." James shook his head.

"Can't. Already skipped work today to come see ya. Pop is tryin' to save up for improvements on the apartment, so it ain't a good time for me to miss."

"Okay," Faye nodded, and she stopped pulling him, and stood before him. She wanted him to come; in fact, she hated being away from him. What she had with Blink was wonderful, and what she had with Spot was both unanticipated and beautiful, but what she had with James was by far the best. He was the one and only man she had ever known that had never, and would never, look at her sexually. Faye could have stripped down naked right there and danced around him, and James would have asked her how the headlines had been-and would have really been wondering about headlines.

She sighed, tilting her head to the side, and placing her hands on his cheeks. "I wish I could see ya every day, like old times," she whispered. James pulled her into a hug.

"Me too," he murmured, and he squeezed her hard for a moment.

Finally, Faye stepped back from him, and gazed into his eyes, feeling so much adoration for him she could not bring herself to let go of him completely. She was thinking of one of her favorite memories-of James, and herself, under the big tree by the river in their old neighborhood. It was a hot, mid-July afternoon, but the shade from the tree kept the grass cool beneath their feet. And when they looked up to the sky and spun, and spun, the tree let the sunlight glow through its leaves like colors in a kaleidoscope. It was so beautiful. James laughed beside her, spinning vigorously, until they both tripped on their own feet, and fell down into the grass. For a few moments, the world tilted to and fro, though they were still, and Faye closed her eyes, feeling as though she were floating on ripples in a river... and James would reach for her hand, and hold it until the sun went down, and until the sound of their mothers' voices called them home.

"Hey," James whispered, and he gently pinched Faye's nose. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Good days," she whispered back. "The spinning game."

James smiled, and gently pulled himself away from her. He was headed back to Brooklyn, and after walking maybe twenty paces he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Just keep on spinnin', doll, an' I promise I'll always find ya!"

Faye laughed, and watched him walk into the shadows. She sighed, and turned her head back towards Manhattan. Blink would no doubt be worrying be now. As she thought of his shaggy blond hair and tan, soft skin, she smiled, and began to jog back the way she had come hours before. It was time to go home.

******************  
**THE END**  
******************


End file.
